#It’s perspective I know James is taller but this looks good so - enjoy
Note
hey! this is chance & here’s week 2’s prompt. pick one of your ocs. are they open to other people’s perspectives? do they go out of their way to learn new things?
I'll go ahead and talk about William since I'm writing a sort of origin story for him right now!
So William Byrne Jr is the son of William Byrne Sr, a fairly successful lawyer/notary in Rosemead. He was raised in a very traditional and conservative manner, but had an incident in his young teen years that really amped up that conservative upbringing (plot twist: it was a gay thing). So, naturally, he ended up being more closed-minded and comfortable with the status-quo.
Outwardly, at least.
Inwardly, William is livid. He's angry at himself and his family and his hometown. He hates how others look at him and how he has to put on a facade in order for the townspeople to treat him normally/fairly. It's through his sheer forced normalcy and his father's business/reputation that William was able to scrape by with a fairly neutral reputation. Once he started picking up his father's work and became a notary/lawyer himself, people started viewing him a teensy bit better.
Okay now that all that context is out of the way, onto the meat of the question:
William loves forgery.
He developed a strong sense of justice following the incident and isn't afraid to forge legal documents if he feels that the terms are unfair. He has a habit of going to taverns to listen in on gossip/idle chit chat and get to know the people in town both as a defense mechanism (how can I fit in here) and as a way to inform himself of what the situation is. "Okay I'm here for the Richardson Ranch acquisition, but is Lorry dealing with them fairly?"
While he's not going too far out of his way to learn new academic things like languages, history, art, etc, he's fairly invested in learning about the culture and laws (both legal and social) of where he's going. One, because it helps the business and two, because, again, youth trauma. He may be open to learning about new perspectives and the like, but it doesn't mean he'll agree with them. He might just nod politely and go "What an interesting perspective! I will be sure to not take that into account."
It's by doing this very thing that he ends up getting roped into becoming a pirate on the Ellina. When James and his crew dock in Stonesend, he ends up getting a taste of the "wild and reckless" freedom that Ellinacrew (as I affectionately call them) enjoy. For him, unapologetic and authentic self-expression was too intoxicating to turn down--as was Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome Emmanuel Cervantes. So, he does what any good 30yo repressed lawyer/notory Jr does: he runs away.
Anyways! Here's a little excerpt from the story:
They were knocking over the drinks without a care in the world, and William found himself once again enraptured. By now, the musicians had joined in as well, drumming and fluting away while the crowd supplemented it all with cheers and claps of their own. He fingers itched for his own fiddle to join in, and he cursed himself for leaving it at the inn. They weren’t supposed to be here anymore, so what were they doing still here and leaping from table to table?
He looked around their original table, hoping for some sort of explanation. There were four others still in their seats: a man with brown hair who seemed to hate the song just as much as William did, his seemingly-amused friend who pat the poor man’s shoulder in apology, a taller man with a shaved head that lamented his spilled drink, and lastly—
William wanted to throttle himself for not bringing his fiddle.
Emmanuel was sitting at the table as well, hands clapping along and his face somewhere between fond, exasperated, and unsurprised. He seemed to be watching the fiddler more intently than the singer, or the boy, and something akin to jealousy, or desperation flared up in William.
He looked around, searching for anyone that may have had a spare fiddle, or flute, or—or gods’ offcuts he would have even settled for a piano! Out of the corner of his eye, William saw the bartender put some cutlery away and, without thinking, he nearly lept over the bar and snatched two spoons from him. He ignored the bartender’s angry shouts and, steadying himself, quickly downed the rest of his cider.
If he made a fool of himself, well, he wouldn’t be coming back.
Taking the spoons in his hands, he took a moment to find the rhythm quietly to himself, before he began to play them loudly, in earnest. A few heads turned towards him, and he felt himself flush, but more importantly the table—Emmanuel’s table—still had not turned. He braced himself.
‘Oh gods William you must have dined with Seamus tonight,’ he thought to himself. Then, he leapt onto the nearest table and continued to play. Both the woman and the fiddler stopped, briefly, surprised that some outsider had joined their revelry, but William had almost forgotten about them. Emmanuel was looking at him, now, hands frozen just before a clap.
William kept the rhythm.
Emmanuel let out an errant laugh, and began his clapping once more. That seemed to tear the others out of their brief stasis, and their singing and dancing started up once more with even greater fervor.
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THE SLEEPOVER FIC | Part 5 The Contemplating
Notes: James Acaster, Original characters, No warnings this week just some good innocent fluff. I lied. I mention babestation twice, one day I will write something innocent.
Pairing: James Acaster x Reader
Genre: Fluff with eventual smut, Slow Burn fic
Words: 2,439
Summary: You and James have put yourselves into trouble, but you think maybe it’s hotter that way.
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9
The following Sunday morning you awoke to sunrise draping lazily through your cream curtains. Pulling the duvet back you dragged yourself out of bed with a soft stretch. Making your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth. You looked out your window at the dusty London street.
It was going to be a pleasant day today. Temperature making its way up to the mid-twenties. So late last night you had decided you would have a day outdoors. You had some writing to do for a project you were planning therefore you’d figured today was as good as any to start. Brushing your teeth idly you started your, now rather frequent, internal dialogue on James.
Your mind had been running circles since Wednesday evening and the kiss he’d given you on his way out. Part of you kept telling yourself that ‘maybe this was just a way he said goodbye to people’. After all, the two of you hadn’t had a sober goodbye up until that point. Perhaps it was just his formalities. And it wasn’t as if he’d called or even dropped you a text since then to indicate a romantic gesture. But the other half of you could help read between the lines of his subtle touches you could still feel on your skin.
Washing your face and leaving the room you moved to your wardrobe. Pulling out an oversized white tee and dark wash jeans. You began to get dressed. Considering where you might like to go today. After some deliberation you decided on the coffee house beside Camden lock. You sat down at your desk, putting on some concealer, liner and brushing up your eyebrows. You looked into your y/e/c eyes, edging the spoolie in between your fingers and resting your chin in both hands. Letting out a large sigh, the confusion continued.
You’d always considered yourself to know right from wrong. However, your thoughts of James had lately been trivial to that. Although you knew that James wasn’t happy in his relationship, that didn’t mean that his partner wasn’t. This was yet another hurdle of guilt that was blocking you from admitting growing feelings for James. But as much as you blocked it from your mind, you couldn’t block out the way James made you feel. A sense of calm, giddiness and as though you had known him all your life. Yet it had only just been one week since you first met.
Dropping your hand and sighing you shook the thoughts from your head. Brushing your hair quickly, grabbing your laptop bag and heading out for the day.
The air was warm, the sun shining down onto the streets as you stepped out from your apartment complex. You inhaled, sucking in the early summer air. It was busy on the streets, as it usually was on a Sunday in London. Many people basking in the final day on their trips before getting the train home. You would always recognise how lucky you were to have the chance to live in such a vibrant city, doing the work that you loved. Trotting with a skip in your step to your local tube station. A smile across your face from your blessing.
The tube, as always, was muggy and dirty. Passing a burst of carbonated air through every once in a while. But eventually you made it to Camden station and were able to bask in the sunlight once again. You made your way up Camden market, the bright colours above the stylistic storefronts. People weaving past as you pushed through the crowd, heading straight up towards the lock.
After some time of fighting past bodies you reached the lock, the filthy black bars and open arms of the coffee shop embracing you on arrival. You ordered your usual drink, nestling down onto a free table in the outside seating area. Under a parasol in the corner.
There were lots of people sitting and chatting around you, enjoying the sunshine with each other's company. You people watched for a while, taking pleasure in voyeurism was one of your favourite things to do in the city. It was filled with an array of characters, outside the restraints of the cafe’s fencing. The lining of the lock was littered with people, sitting, eating and drinking casually. There was a young couple beside you, seemingly on a first date, their conversation awkward and laced with anxiety. Reminding you subconsciously of how alone you were. Not only in this moment, but somewhat in day to day life.
Mostly working during the day, you hardly indulged in the thought of spending your time going on dates, let alone falling in love with someone. After your previous relationship you needed time for yourself. To learn, grow and understand who you were as a person. And yet here you were, years down the line having done all these things. Working alone in a coffee shop, surrounded by people in love. You pondered the idea for a moment, staring at the half drafted document on the screen of your laptop before beginning to type.
Comically however, just as you did so, your phone started to buzz from the pocket of your jeans. You reached inside, studying the caller ID before you answered. It was Olive, you pressed it to your ear.
“Olive”
“Hi lovely, I just wondered what you’re up to today?”
“Not much, I’m just starting the Eraser project I told you about the other day. I was going to send you the proposal a little later to see if you're on the same page with my thinking”
“Oh, brilliant, I was actually going to ask if you wanted to meet up over coffee to talk about it. I could come by yours in about an hour if that's okay?”
“I’m actually not in at the moment, I’m in Camden, I can meet you somewhere if you like though?”
“Camden sounds lovely on a day like today. I’ll come down and meet you there!”
“Alright perfect, I’ll text you the cafe I’m at when you set off?”
“That's great thank you, I’ll see you soon.” The phone cut out, leaving only the hubbub of people as your background noise. With a smile you began to type once again, grateful for someone to subside your lonely feeling.
Olivia arrived about forty five minutes after your initial call, the second call being moments ago when she couldn’t find you in the seating area. She was wearing a jade kimono that had an intricate peacock pattern on top of a black cotton jumpsuit. Paired with embellished sandals as well as multiple chunky bracelets. She gave you a warm smile as you waved at her above the sea of people.
“Y/n!” she said, making her way over and sitting across from you. A cup of jasmine tea in her hand.
“Hello lady Olivia,”
“How have you been?”
“On off, how about you?”
“About the same, grateful for the sunshine!” She exclaimed, raising her hands passionately in the air.
“So.”
“So” You grinned at one another, excited to be discussing a new creative project. “What are your thoughts”
“I think first of all it should be filled with colour. Hopefully, if all goes well, we’ll be able to set up an open air theatre by the end of summer, just before the kids go back to school. I want flowers and paint and colourful lighting.”
“That sounds amazing, what do you want me to do on the other side of things”
“Well I’d like for you to take a bit more of a writing hat this time around. I think you’re ready for it. I’d like to see what you can create and bounce off of one another that way. I think it’d also be lovely to get a balance between different age perspectives with what were wanting to talk about”
“I’m up for that one hundred percent, I’ll be the old crone you need whenever you need it love” You laughed at her choice of words, not having intended your statement in that way but nonetheless you appreciated her humour. “How long until you’re wanting to book a space for making?”
“I can get us one by next week if you want?”
“Yeah that's fine by me.”
The initial project proposal you’d brought forward was to explore gender and sexuality through growth. With memoirs, dance and music that was reminiscent of your own identity. You’d been brewing on the project for some time now. Unsure of how to put it into the world with its fullest potential. Then, you’d been working with Olivia and watching her grow at a later stage in life, you’d brought back out the project with a new filter. Wanting to go on a journey of creating ‘Eraiser’ along with her. The creative juices were flowing. You were on your third drink of the day, now accompanied with a muffin as your stomach had begun to rumble. You’d been brainstorming stories and concept ideas, bouncing off one another for a while when your phone began pinging on the table. It was a text from James causing you to do a secret giddy dance. The message that came through that read,
Are you in Camden?
I am, why?
Initially confused by how he knew your location before an image of you and Olivia from a distance came through. You smiled at the sound of his voice calling out your name above the early afternoon sun.
“Y/n!”
“James!” You responded, him making his way towards your table. You stood from your chair as he came closer, embracing him in a hug. James was dressed in a pair of yellow canvas shorts and a white tee to match your own. He enclosed his arms around you. Being slightly taller he was able to naturally rest his chin atop of your head.
“How’ve you been?” He murmured, placing a stealthy half kiss in your hair, before you released one another from the embrace.
“I’m alright how are you?”
“Okay thanks, you smell nice by the way” An offhand comment that made your hands curl around your middle finger.
“This is Olivia, my co-worker. Olive, James”
“Lovely to meet you” James held out a hand to shake Olivia’s. Once again causing you to question his ambition by how he interacted with her in contrast to you. From the handshake to the lack of speaking her name in a sentence as he did with you. You regained your seat as the two chatted.
“You too James. Might you be James from the telly?”
“Depends what channels you’re into.”
“Babestation?”
“Thats me”
“Have a seat,” She offered as the three of you chuckled, pointing to an empty table behind him. Accepting the invite to the table graciously James grabbed a chair and sat down beside you.
“What are you doing here?”
“Just having a meeting, enjoying the sunshine.” You squinted up towards the sky.
“Oh sorry, I’m not interrupting am I?”
“No no,” Olivia spoke with a slightly devilish grin, “We were about finished I think.”
This was a lie, you had been in the middle of explaining something to her when James had texted you. Knowing the implication behind her smile you rolled her eyes. It was going to be a long story to tell her once James had left. She continued,
“So where did the two of you meet?”
“We have a mutual friend, we met last friday for some drinks.” James nodded in agreement, mumbling a, some under his breath with a shake of his head. “What’re you doing here?”
“Oh you know, getting out of the flat while it's nice out. I’ve been working all week so haven't had a chance to see many people that I don't have to be funny for”
You felt slightly guilty but somewhat better about the fact that James hadn’t called since Wednesday. Selfishly forgetting he was a busy man, attempting to balance working to please people with a crumbling relationship. Not wanting him to feel lonely or burnt out. “Grab a drink if you like, I don’t mind not laughing at your jokes.” You responded sarcastically, however your intention was somewhat laced with care. James flashed you a kind smile, eyebrows raised in excitement. He placed his hands on the table, squaring his elbows in a half stand.
“Only if you’re sure, I don't want to impose!”
“No please join us, Y/n is not as interesting company as a real life pornstar” Olivia joked, causing a ripple of smiles and a light ‘fuck off’ to roll from your tounge. James stood from his seat with a ‘I won't be long’. The two of you watched him disappear into the cafe before Olivia turned to you with a knowing look on her face. You sighed, taking a sip of your drink.
“So, is he good in bed?”
“We haven’t had sex,”
“You should, he’s dishy”
“It's not like that,” You trailed off “He has a girlfriend.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah… but it's complicated apparently”
“How so?”
You explained as briefly as you could the events of the past week or so. Trying to watch out for how close James was getting towards the front of the line inside. After your word vomit Olivia’s grin was back.
“So you like him then?”
“I-” You contemplated, not having audibly admitted your thoughts for him yet. And the idea that you would have to face him in a couple minutes after doing so made you nervous. “It’s confusing.” you settled with.
“It doesn’t have to be Y/n”
Silently agreeing, you observed James as he ordered his drink now. Standing gently with one hand in his pocket, the other placed on the counter, his pelvis angled towards the window you were looking in from. Olivia continued,
“Listen to me. I’m twice your age love, and I know it might sound complicated and terrifying now but you’ll regret the things you didn’t try for when you’re my age. He seems lovely and it's clearly something that you want. You’ve been around him for less than ten minutes and your face has been lit up since he arrived. Even if its short lived its worth a shot, plus, it looks like he's into you”
“You don’t know that”
“Please, the way he had his hands around you earlier. I was practically gushing”
James had started making his way back to the two of you now holding an iced tea in his palm. He flashed you a smile as he came through the door.
“Just think about it.” Olive started again with a wink, “Because if you don’t, I might”
Thank you to all the lovelies who have been following the fic so far. I’ve been posting now every other day just to try get better quality of writing so hopefully yall are coping with that. Let me know any thoughts you have about the fic. I’m also taking James x Reader oneshot requests via DM’s so if you have anything you need desperately to be manifested I’m your gal.
- Princess Maria :)))))
Taglist @josies-polestar @queensantiagoofthe99
If you want to be put on, or taken off my taglist, feel free to tell me!
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american high school!jily (pt II)
hi! here’s a short chapter before The Big One (which is set on Halloween night and will hopefully come out on Halloween, if I have the energy). thanks so much for all the positive feedback, it makes me really happy! also you can read it on AO3 if you want
read part one here
James and Lily are in the same math class; this fact is not new. What is new, however, is that today, he drops his bag in Sev’s seat, the one right next to her.
“Hey,” he says, then nods once, as if this is normal. It is not.
“Hi,” she responds, because she doesn’t know what else to do. What she does know is that suddenly she’s aware of him, aware of the solidness of his form beside her. He’s tall, taller than Roger. She never really noticed that before.
He fiddles with his pencil. She blinks once, twice. She’s probably so attuned to his movements because he took Sev’s seat. Yes, that must be it. James sitting next to her means that Severus “I’m a fucking white supremacist” Snape can’t. Math has always been the worst, too — Lily cut Sev out of her life junior year, after he published that article, but he refuses to listen to her when she tells him to stay away, and sits next to her whenever he can. She has no friends in math class, no one to shoot him dirty looks and drown out his murmured apologies and arguments.
But James is here, now. Even if he’s not her friend. Even if he doesn’t know the significance of what he just did.
He’s still here. And that’s something.
***
Lily, please save me, the note reads, written in James’s messy scrawl. It took her a long time, as well as a lot of not-so-subtle hints from James, to realize that he’d written it in the first place. It takes her a little longer to decipher his handwriting, which is fine, because she’s ahead on the problems they’re supposed to be working through, caught in that in-between of being too good for regular math and not good enough for honors. As she looks at the curled-up bottom portion of his notebook, she senses Sev glaring daggers at her from across the room. Perfect.
From what? she writes back, letters neat and compact. James reads it almost immediately and takes a long time to respond.
The evil eye that Snivellus is giving me right now.
Ha, ha.
A smile spills out of the corner of his mouth as he writes back. Are you two involved in some sort of torrid love affair I didn’t know about? Am I making him #jelly?
That hashtag made me throw up in my mouth a little. She pauses, pencil flicking against the desk. She knows he’s watching, knows Sev is watching, and so she picks up the paper again and adds, and no, I am not involved with Sev. Would rather make out with Tony the Squid.
His smile widens, now, and she catches it in her peripheral vision. Not our school mascot. That’s too far, Evans.
It occurs to Lily that she’s acting exactly like elementary school James would. She’s laughing about Sev. Her past self would be disappointed.
But her past self didn’t know what Sev would become. She angles her body more towards James, away from her former best friend’s skin-crawling stare.
***
James sits with her again the next math class, and the one after that, too. She knows things about him, now: knows that he doodles soccer balls in the margins of his notebook; knows that he can’t stop moving, and sometimes when he’s bored of tapping his pencil he’ll tap his foot against her chair leg, unconsciously; knows that he has a little scar on his neck; knows that he can make her laugh with one passed note; knows that he still hates Sev as much as he did in eighth grade.
Lily’s the first to step into the math classroom today; or, at least, she thinks she is, until she spots Sev hovering near her seat, muttering to himself under his breath. Lily steels herself and walks by him, pointedly ignoring him as she slips into her chair.
“Lil —”
“Don’t call me that,” she says immediately, and glances towards the door. She’s forgotten what it feels like to be alone with Sev: like she’s been stripped bare, vulnerable, underneath all the layers of hatred and hurt.
Sev huffs, haughtily, in a way that’s so quintessentially him that it causes Lily physical pain. “You’re blowing it all out of proportion. I was looking at the situation from a purely economic perspective—”
“You were being fucking racist, Sev, and you know it,” she snaps, trying and failing to calm down. So easy, she is. The same conversation, every time: the same circles ran, with no ground lost or gained.
Sev opens his mouth to argue back, but before he can, a new voice cuts in.
“Should’ve known I’d find you here,” says James, speaking in a way she’s forgotten that he’s capable of: sharp, sharp as cut glass.
“This has nothing to do with you, Potter,” Sev says stiffly, gaze settling on James, who in turn looks at Lily, brow furrowed.
“You’re in my seat, Snivellus.”
Sev’s face turned red. “It was my seat first.”
“Then I guess it depends on what Lily wants.”
They both turn towards her, and this is where I get to choose, Lily realizes, with a startling burst of clarity. She knows she doesn’t want Sev, doesn’t want him near her, doesn’t want him begging for forgiveness with crocodile tears; she sucks in a breath, says, “That’s James’s seat.”
James smiles, just for a second, then slides into the seat next to her and starts to take out his math notebook. Sev stands, watching them, hands curled into fists; Lily can’t meet his eyes. Yes, he’s virtually unrecognizable from his childhood self, but rejection — rejection for James? James, who had made his early years a living hell?
She stares at the desk until she hears Sev’s retreating footsteps, knowing that to glance up and see the look of anguish on his face would make her feel even worse.
“Glad we got rid of Snivellus, huh, Evans?” James whispers, and he’s too close, sitting next to her with his pencil already tapping against the desk, a hand wafting through his hair. Lily feels like a child again, except this time she’s chosen the wrong side. She’s one of them now. Sev will never speak to her again.
Isn’t that what she wants? He’s a terrible person; she doesn’t long for his friendship. Still, a part of her — a very small part of her — wants him to want her. Another wave of revulsion consumes her; for a moment, she just stares at James, wondering how she’s gotten here. “I’m not like you, James.”
He blinks. “Yeah?”
She could yell at him. She could ask him why, all those years ago, he felt it necessary to call Sev Snivellus, to joke about his greasy hair and unwashed clothes, to ensure that he’d have no friends save Lily.
But in this moment, Lily’s more angry at herself. So instead, she turns towards the front of the classroom, hoping to find some sort of respite in calculus.
Sev doesn’t approach her again, after that.
***
Texts with Roger Davies, Tuesday, October 27th, 9:33pm
Roger: did you get rodriguez’s approval for the theme?
Lily: yeah, we’re all set!
Roger: okay great
Roger: i’m so glad that we’re finally done with that process
Roger: james was being so annoying about choosing it
Lily: lol i thought he was funny. and it didn't derail us that much
(Lily doesn’t know where that instinct comes from, the one that tells her to defend James’s honor. Maybe she knows, in her heart of hearts, that he’d do the same for her, without question, because that’s just the kind of person he is. Maybe she imagines him in math class, tapping his pencil against his desk, focused but also not, a reassuring presence. Maybe the image in her head is shifting from the boy he once was to the boy that now sits next to her every day: the one who lets her fight her own battles, the one who doesn’t push her, the one who didn’t ask about Sev after their last encounter. She can’t be sure of it yet, but maybe she’s actually starting to enjoy his company — that is, when she forgets about the past eight years of her life.)
(Or, maybe, she thinks, as she lies down on her bed, watching the bubbles on her phone pop up and disappear over and over again, she knows that disagreeing with Roger will extend their conversation.)
Roger: james is always like that tho
Lily: really? he’s been pretty good lately i thought
Roger: always wants things his way
Roger: idk i shouldn’t be talking about this
Lily: lol
Roger: it’s just that ur nice to talk to
(Roger’s never said that to her before. She wonders if it’s because she really is nice to talk to, or if it’s because she’s just there.)
Lily: lol thanks
Roger: and i feel like i can trust you
(He’s never said that to her before, either. They’ve never really spoken about non-yearbook related things. She doesn’t understand why he’s suddenly acting like they’re friends. She can’t say she doesn’t enjoy the familiarity — this is Roger, after all, and any relationship gain with him is a good one — but she feels blindsided. It was October until people burst into her room telling her it’s Christmas, and now she’s just confused.)
Lily: yeah you can trust me
Roger: cool i’m glad
seen by Lily at 9:46pm (there’s nothing more to say).
***
Texts with Roger Davies, Tuesday, October 27th, 9:50pm
Roger: can i ask you a question
Lily: fire away
Roger: are you coming to the halloween thing this weekend
Lily: yeah was planning on it
Lily: why
Roger: cool maybe i’ll see you there
(Oh.)
(It’s Christmas morning in October. It’s Christmas morning in October.)
(Lily doesn't know much about high school relationships, hookups or otherwise, but she does know this: if a boy asks a girl if she's coming to a party, he did it for a reason. And that reason is usually not so that they can discuss the yearbook.)
Lily: yeah see you there
(There's nothing more to do but wait.)
part three
#jilytober#jilytober 2020#jily#jily fanfiction#mine#my writing#lily evans#james potter#severus snape#jily au#harry potter fanfiction
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Highschool au where Popular football player tony stark has a crush on peter parker, the guy who his tutor for physics and math
Notes: Meant for this to be cute. I think it’s painful instead? I promise I didn’t mean to. I kind of want to write another 100k for this. Thank you for (unintentionally) giving me this sweet enemies to lovers prompt. I hope you enjoy it and it isn’t too far off of what you expected!
Warning(s): Bullying, Soft/Fluff, Surprise!Angst, Tony is a teenage dick (you know the boy in the class who likes you but pulls your hair?), Peter wears glasses, Perspective swap partway through
_______________________________________________________________________
“Hey, Penis! Heads up!”
Peter reacted in perfect time to receive a football square to the eye. His glasses went flying off his face. The force of the ball knocked him backwards on the bleachers, where he’d been doing his homework, sending papers flying all over. Peter groaned, looking to the football wobbling next to him. His legs were bent over the bleachers. They hadn’t quite made it over from the force of his fall.
He was reaching a hand up to his eye, half afraid he’d gone blind, when he heard thudding against the bleachers. Peter squinted with his good eye, but the sun was blocking the figure from view. “Shit. I thought that knocked you out, pipsqueak.” At first, Peter thought the hand stretching out towards him was meant to help him up. His hand left his eye and he reached out, only to be rebuffed by an elbow. “Whoa, whoa. Don’t get any wise ideas. I gotta get the ball back for the boys.” The voice was familiar to Peter, and then the face of its owner swam into view: Tony Stark. Hair matted to his forehead, sweat dripping down his brow, his jersey stained with grass and mud. Peter wanted to roll his eyes at the stubble that dotted the jock’s jaw. The other boy was so proud of it.
Tony swiped up his ball, leaving Peter to push and heave himself back into an upright position. Tony turned away from him and launched the ball back towards the field, “This one’s for you, lover!” He stuck his tongue out and pointed at one James Rhodes, number 85.
“You say that again and I’m gonna tell Coach that you were the one who swapped his mouthwash out for cologne!”
Tony stood there a moment, a roguish grin on his lips. Peter was too busy trying to collect his stray papers to notice when the other boy turned to face him. “Watch yourself, pipsqueak.” He reached out and tousled Peter’s hair, earning an annoyed grumble as Peter tried to bat his hand away.
Peter’s eye opened, and he was gentle as he pressed two fingertips to the spot where the football struck him. It was sore and was sure to leave a bruise that Aunt May would worry about later.
He didn’t take his eyes off of Tony, though. Instead, Peter watched the boy skip a few steps here and there as he made his way down to the field. The boy’s shoulder pads moved beneath his blue jersey as he jogged back to his teammates. Peter worried his bottom lip between his teeth, staring at the yellow 39 emblazoned on the back of his jersey. Peter had its counterpart, a white jersey, tucked away in his backpack.
Peter tried not to think too hard about the cruel way Tony handled the whole situation. But tears blurred his vision as he scrambled to stuff papers into his beige Jansport. They were supposed to have a tutoring session after practice. It was the only reason Peter hung around so late. Everybody knew how Peter felt about athletics: the meathead jocks ran the school, and kids like him were bullied. Kids like him got called “Penis Parker” by the likes of Clint Barton and the rest of them. The minute he’d joined the mathletes to compete on behalf of their school, the bullying had intensified. It went from name calling to kids shoving his face in a toilet bowl on the regular during his lunch hour.
For a couple hours every day, Tony Stark was different.
He got to see the side of the jock that most didn’t. Stark was all Cheshire cat smiles with a cocky, New York accent to boot. It was irresistible to most, and Peter was embarrassed to say that included him. The boy ducked his head, shouldering his backpack so he could make his way down beneath the bleachers to find his glasses. It was his own fault for falling for the other teen. He knew what guys like Stark thought about. But Tony had said — Peter thought it childish to even remember, but the other boy had said he liked Peter. That he thought it was cute, how Peter bit down on his lip when he was watching Tony scribble his work down on his physics homework. Peter had gone beet red when the teen had tucked a curl behind his ear and smiled at him, leaning against the side of his locker at the end of the day when the halls were empty.
But that was the problem. The halls were empty, and nobody was around to see it. In those moments, Peter was certain Tony liked him. He could see it plain as day, written all over the other’s face. Times like these? Peter spared a glance towards the field. He saw Tony’s head turned towards him, that the boy was watching him. Peter looked away.
It was hard telling that he gave a damn when he let his friends walk all over Peter the way that they did.
From across the field, Tony stared at the boy with the slumped shoulders. Even from where he was standing, he could see the way Peter was touching his eye. As soon as the football had snapped off in that direction, straight out of Clint’s hand and for the other boy’s face, Tony had felt a vein pop on his forehead. He whipped around towards the laughing jock, about to ask what the fuck he thought he was doing, when he heard a groan from the bleachers.
He rushed over there, heart pounding, taking the steps two at a time. He felt the eyes of the entire team on his back as he peered over to where Peter was sprawled on his back, his legs swung over the metal stands from where they hadn’t made the fall. Tony breathed a sigh of relief, then slapped a stupid smile on his face and said, “Shit, I thought that knocked you out, pipsqueak.”
So maybe he was a little hard on Peter. Maybe he kept it to business as he snagged the football and lobbed it back towards the field. Tony made his quips and his taunts, bringing his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. The football sailed right into Rhodes’ arms. Tony grinned, said a few parting words to Peter, touched his hair because god, he loved those curls, and then he was darting away, taking the stairs two at a time all over again. He felt eyes on him, but this time there was only a set. A set of dark brown, a pair that looked almost hazel in the right kind of light. Tony knew them well. He’d spent hours memorizing every detail of Peter’s face as the boy went through problem after problem with him. Tony didn’t need to pay attention. He didn’t struggle in math, nor did he struggle with physics. Maybe he didn’t want to apply himself, but that was a whole other story.
He’d rather apply himself to Peter Parker.
It was why, that day after he’d stuck around while Peter put his things in his locker, Tony had given him his away jersey. He’d pulled it out of his backpack, freshly laundered, and handed it to the smaller teen. The second half to a jersey was sacred to a jock, and he was pretty sure Peter’s fingers had quivered when he’d reached out to take it.
Peter had thanked him, the sweet kid that he was. The boy had gone redder than the folder tucked beneath his arm, and he was avoiding Tony’s eyes, staring instead down at the white Converse on his own feet.
“Wear it Friday night.”
The boy’s head snapped up, his jaw going slack. “I — what?”
Tony rocked back on his heels and shrugged his shoulders. He adjusted the strap of his backpack, suddenly unable to meet Peter’s eyes this time. Instead, he stared at a faded sticker on one of the lockers across the hall. “You know. If you want, you should wear it to the game.” He snuck a look in Peter’s direction.
Peter had his eyes set on the yellow letters on the back of his jersey. Tony grimaced, fearing the worst, but then Peter flung himself into the taller teen’s arms, squeezing him in what was the tightest hug of his life. Tony wheezed out a laugh as the boy mumbled his thanks into the collar of his shirt. Tony’s arm slid around his back, where he could feel Peter’s jean jacket riding up to reveal the soft cotton of his t-shirt (a fucking Pythagorean theorem joke, the damn nerd). When Tony glanced down, he saw Peter was standing on the tips of his toes to give him the hug.
He couldn’t get it out of his head.
“ —th to Tony. Are you on this planet, idiot?” Rhodes was in his face, waving the football around.
Tony scoffed. “Of course I am. What’s the next play?”
His best friend scoffed and shook his head, jerking his thumb in the direction of the rest of the team. They were roaming off towards the showers. Rogers was walking backwards with his hands up, almost as though he was asking what the hell was wrong with the other boy. Tony flipped him off, enjoying the satisfaction he got when Rogers rolled his eyes and turned around.
“We’re hitting the showers, dumbass. And then we’re all heading to Bucky’s for a cookout. Foster parents aren’t home. Said there’s gonna be beer. You in?”
“You know if you want beer all I have to do is wave my — ”
“If you say you’re gonna wave your dick around, I’m kicking you off the team myself. I don’t give a shit what Rogers says.”
Tony smirked, reaching out to give his friend a punch to his shoulder pads. “I was going to say my black card. But whatever floats your boat, man. I get it. No questions asked.”
Rhodes scoffed, tossing the football into Tony’s hands. “You coming?”
“In a second, I’ve got — ”
“ — A nerd to seduce? Yeah, I noticed.” Rhodes spared him a glance that told Tony his best friend knew all about his dirty little secret (Peter wasn’t, but damn it was hard with high school pecking orders). He turned on his heel and headed off the field. Tony stood there, lingering, and then he dropped the ball and headed in the opposite direction, jogging back towards the bleachers.
He ducked around behind them, heart sinking when he realized Peter wasn’t there. He was sure that he’d seen the other teen duck behind the bleachers after the football incident. Tony went to pull his phone out of his pocket, but he groaned when he realized it was tucked away in his jeans, which were in his locker. He was wearing his football gear. “Fuck,” he complained, and he spared a look at the locker room before he sprinted off for the bike racks.
Tony was sure that Peter would be there.
How many times had Tony offered to give the boy a ride? Too many. He wasn’t sure if Peter was afraid of the double entendre or what, but the other boy always refused. “My bike’s too big for your car,” Peter would say, and Tony thought that was a bullshit excuse, “and I need it in the morning to get to school.” Less bullshit, still an excuse.
When he rounded the corner, he saw Peter unchaining the lock on his bike. “Pete!” he shouted, but instead of looking at him, the kid continued fiddling with his lock. Tony jogged over to him, full of boundless energy despite the sweat he felt dripping down his spine from the team’s impromptu scrimmage. “Hey, I was looking for you — ”
“What do you want, Tony?”
Okay, that made him stop in his tracks. His cleats scuffed the pavement. Tony’s hands came up to grip the inside of the shoulder pads, tugging them a little further down, away from his neck. “I thought that we were on for tutoring this afternoon,” he said, resisting the urge to toe at the pavement. “The guys and I are heading to Bucky’s, so — ”
“Great. Sounds like tutoring’s cancelled.” Peter got to his feet, the bike lock in his hands. He snapped the lock back into place and slid his backpack around to the front of his body so he could tuck it away. The boy’s fingers froze once it was unzipped, and Tony shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“What? Did someone put a snake in your backpack?”
Instead, the boy pulled out his jersey. Tony bit his bottom lip to keep from grinning. Peter was just carrying it around with him? Yeah, maybe it was a little dangerous. If he opened it and somebody saw, there would be a lot of questions asked about it. Tony had this whole thing planned for the game, he was going to ask Peter out and —
He grunted as the fabric was pushed unceremoniously into his chest. “Hey, what’re you — I told you to wear it on Friday.”
“I’m not going to.”
There was a beat of silence, and Peter let go of the jersey. It dropped to the ground down between them, the white fabric dirtied by the pavement. Tony inhaled. “What?”
Peter raised his head, finally, and met Tony’s eyes. The taller boy was startled to see a tear streaking down Peter’s cheek. His eyes were rimmed red. The spot where he’d been struck by the football was already forming a dark bruise. Tony didn’t know where Peter’s glasses were. “I said that I’m not going to wear it.” He brought a hand up and roughly wiped at his cheek.
Tony lurched forward, grabbing Peter’s wrist as the boy made to turn away from him and climb onto his bike. “Why not?”
“Ask your friends.”
“Come on, Peter. That’s fucking unfair and you — ”
“Unfair?” Peter yanked his hand out of Tony’s grasp, and the jock’s hand fell uselessly to his side. He stared at the other boy, bewildered. “What’s unfair is the way you treat me in front of them. Like I’m some — some secret you’re so ashamed of. What is this? A game?” Peter sniffled, his bottom lip wobbling. He whispered, “A bet?”
“What? No, of course it’s not — Jesus, Pete. It’s not like that.” Tony bent to swipe the shirt off of the ground, ignoring the dirt that smeared across the back of it. He gripped the fabric tight in his hand.
There were so many things he wanted to tell Peter. He wanted to tell the boy that Tony had stared at the back of his head all semester last year, right before the summer. How he was the one who had written those stupid notes and stuffed them in Peter’s locker. Tony was sure the kid thought they were from MJ. What a load of crap. The confessions were there, on the tip of Tony’s tongue, but Peter shook his head.
“Find someone else to tutor you.”
Too stunned to do anything else but stand there, Tony watched Peter swing a leg over his bike. He stared after Peter as the boy pedaled away, his beige backpack swinging back and forth as he went. Tony looked down at the jersey in his hands. A flash of anger came over him and his head snapped up. He wadded the jersey into a ball and chucked it down the sidewalk.
“Fine! Why don’t you go fuck yourself, Parker!” The shouted words echoed throughout the empty parking lot.
Peter didn’t turn around.
#starker#tony stark x peter parker#starker fic#tony x peter#ironspider#my fic#prompt fic#prompts#tony stark#peter parker#james rhodes
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Angels of Death
pt. 2/2 pt. 1/2
Bond and Moneypenny are requested as bodyguard for her highness, the duchess of Sussex, Morgana Pendragon.
OR: Q and Bond are snarky and married, Eve has a crush and Morgana is fabulous
wordcount: 3470
Bond was a good spy.
Despite what everyone seemed to think, he knew what he was doing most of the time and was always sure to take the best course of action. Well, from his perspective. He was a professional.
He was also currently sitting in M’s office grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
Mallory sighed. "Do you see any problems 007?."
"Not at all sir." Bond answered honestly, still smiling widely.
"Alright. I expect you ready in three hours maximum. Ask Q-branch to lend you one of the good cars. We don’t want to make a bad impression."
Right. A good impression with the royal family. The one he had sworn his life to. For King and Country, that was his vow. Bond snorted. Q bas going to love this.
***
Ten minutes later Bond was standing with Q and Eve at the far end of Q-branch, disappointed but not surprised with the standard com system as well as a palm coded Walther PPK. “And I thought you loved me dear Q. What do I have to do to make me an exploding pen, hm? Dinner? Some special favours?” he murmured in Q’s ear while putting in the com and securing the Walther in the shoulder holster.
“We’re married, James.” Q answered deadpan. He was reading the mission file while Eve enjoyed a cup of Q-branch's coffee. "It seems to be a standart body guarding mission. Keep the target safe and try not to get shot until absolutely inevitable. The one difference is that you're protecting royalty and that it’s our royalty."
Eve sipped on her coffee and sighed in delight, before taking a look at the mission parameters. "Why isn't MI5 handling this one?"
"Apparently all of their agents are busy right now. And James’ next mission is only in two months. Thats probably why they chose him."
"-Aaaand because I’m such a good agent."
"James, you almost laughed out loud in Mallory's office earlier. No one laughs in Mallory's office." commented Eve, rolling her eyes.
Q shuffled trough the papers. "Well, the target is a royal so you better be a good agent, or there's no pudding for a week. Mummy doesn't want that kind of drama." Q frowned, as if that was the only concern about a member of the royal family being shot.
"I'll take care." James assured him.
"Who’s Mummy?" Eve asked, clearly confused.
Q smiled. "I’ll introduce you some time, she’ll like you. So. The target’s name is Morgana Pendragon --"
Eve chocked on her coffee. After half a minute of spluttering she could finally manage words again. "Q, my platonical soulmate, did you just say James is going to protect the unknowing love of my life, Morgana Pendragon? And the assignment is today?"
"Yes. Now, if you’ll let me finish I’ll reorganise some stuff so Mallory sends you with James. The pining has to stop, you’re better than this."
Eve looked like she might want to say something, but didn’t.
"So. Morgana Pendragon, second in line to the throne. You will accompany her to the opening of a new hospital. You're supposed to be at the palace at 1400, so you've got almost three more hours. You’ll need passes, but I can organise those." Q overflew the rest of file but found nothing of interest. “Alright. You two better go get ready. I'll talk to M. Be back in two hours and I'll issue you one of the fancy cars. I bet Mallory wants us to make a good impression.”
***
Q gave them the Aston. Bond hummed “You are my sunshine” while Eve, wearing matching black dress pants and blazer, put her own Walther in the shoulder holster.
“I didn’t know there was a Walther registered to my name and palmprint...” She mused, when Q handed it to her together with a com system.
“There isn’t.” He smiled ever so slightly. “At least as far as the database is concerned.”
She grinned. “This is why we’re friends Q.” She put in her com and shrugged on the blazer.
“Really? I thought it was because I made you those.” He said pointing down at her shoes. They were red lacquer high heels. Chic. And had knives hidden inside them.
She put her head to one side. “I mean, you’re not wrong. I also value your ability to take no shit.”
Q laughed.
Bond, who was wearing a blue grey Tom Ford suit - his second favourite, Q realised - was finally done with his inspection of the Aston Martin. “Moneypenny, are you done flirting with the Quartermaster?”
Eve only rolled her eyes. “No wonder it took us so long to figure out you were married. Look at that idiot.”
Q shrugged. “Well, I hate to say this, but we literally exchanged rings in the middle of Q-branch. Thats not what I call ‘figuring it out’, especially if you take into account that we weren’t even hiding anything. We thought you knew.”
“We’re flirting all the time.” Bond chimed in.
Eve rolled her eyes. “What you call flirting, is beyond normal understanding.”
Bond grinned. “You hurt me Moneypenny.”
“You do realise you only twenty minutes left to get to the palace.” Q stated absentmindedly while fastening freshly printed ID’s to ribbons. “And don’t forget these.”
Within the minute the Aston was on the road.
***
The butler had asked them to wait. After Eve had spent the entire drive gushing anxiously - a behaviour highly unusual for her - about the possibility of being late, they were now waiting. At least the palace was warmer than the Aston, who didn’t get much warmer than the usual Q-brach temperature of 18°C during their short drive through the cold December air.
Maybe the duchess was a busier person than they’d thought. Maybe she was just fashionably late.
Bond was standing in the middle of the room like he owned the place, Eve to his right. The entire room was decorated in golds and reds - the traditional pendragon colours. Since there was only a couch and a coffee table it was safe to assume the room was meant for greeting guests, which seemed like a spectacular waste of space, but such were the perks of royalty.
After nine minutes of waiting the door at the far end of the room finally opened.
Morgana Pendragon was taller than Bond. That was the first thing he noticed. Then Eve went stiff beside him and he decided it would be better if he did the talking.
Q seemed to have the same idea. “Bond you're in charge. Eve, you can flirt later in the car.”
Bond took a step forward and extended his hand in greeting. “Your majesty.”
Morgana took it. Her handshake was surprisingly firm. “Please, Morgana or Ms. Pendragon, if you must.”
Bond smiled amicably. “Commander Bond.”
“Commander?” Morgana lifted a perfectly shaped eyebrow.
“Formerly of the Royal Navy.”
“And now?”
“MI6.”
Morgana’s eyes sparkled as she smiled. “Really, how intriguing. My Brother-in-Law works there too.”
Q chuckled over com. “Really now. Well, you should get going the event is going to start in less than an hour and you have to drive slowly because of temperature.”
Bond and Eve took simultaneously a step backwards and Bond gestured towards the door they had entered trough. “Shall we?”
***
Bond took the drivers seat and hummed “you are my sunshine” under his breath, leaving Eve and Morgana to converse on the backseat, Morgana on the right as was traditional.
“So. “ said Morgana after closing her seatbelt. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”
Eve smiled tensely and shook. Morgan's extended hand. “Eve Moneypenny.”
“Are you also from the military Ms. Moneypenny? Or may I call you Eve.”
“Eve is fine. I was made Lieutenant before I was recruited for MI6.”
“And now you’re a bodyguard?” asked Morgana.
Eve smirked. “Now I’m a secretary.”
Morgana sat up straighter, etiquette shrugged off like a silken nightgown. “Are you saying that you were promoted to lieutenant and now you have to keep track of a rich old mans schedule?” There was something fierce in her eyes.
Eve smiled slightly. “You could say that, yes.”
Bond looked at them via rearview. “Moneypenny, stop leaving out all the juicy details! You make it sound as if everyone at six was a racist, mysogynistic pig.” He paused for a second. “Though there is that one guy in Accounting...”
Morgana relaxed against her seat. “Commander Bond, you read my mind. For a second there I thought I'd have to address the secret service over dinner tonight.” She sighed. “Now, do tell. What did Commander Bond mean?”
“After I was recruited for MI6 I was a field agent for a while. I was decent-”
Bond coughed.
“-and I was offered a position in the double-oh program, but I declined. Shortly after, I was sent to assist Bond - sorry - Commander Bond on a mission in Istanbul, and I was put in a... difficult position. Now I work as M’s Secretary.”
“Except that ‘Secretary’ doesn’t really cut it. We have a bet going: How will Moneypenny become the next M.”
“How come you never told me that!”
“Must have slipped my mind.”
“Are you betting too?”
Bond shot her puppy dog eyes in the rearview. “Moneypants, I would never-”
Eve sighed exasperated. “So you do.”
Bond started humming again.
Morgana had watched the interaction with great interest. “Alright, cut the fancy talk. I have some questions. First: Does he go by ‘Commander’ or ‘Bond’?”
Eve glared at James trough the rearview. “Everyone calls him Bond, even though he was a commander in the navy and honourably discharged.”
Bond pouted. “Ouch Moneypenny, thats cruel. I was just getting used to the respectful tone!” Then he grinned again. James Bond couldn’t be sad for long when in his favourite car.
Morgana exhaled loudly. “Oh Thank god. Commander Bond is way too long of a name, just so you know. Now. Did Bond just say the minions made a bet about you?”
“Sadly.” Eve sighed. I don’t know when the Minions started with that, but it must have been after Skyfall. Boothroyd wouldn’t have allowed anything of the sort.”
Morgana blinked. “Whoa, wait a minute Loads of information. Minions?”
Eve smiled warmly. “The R&D department of MI6 is called Q-branch, after their commander, The quartermaster. Bond wanted to annoy the quartermaster, so he started calling the subordinated minions. At first he was - excuse my language - pissed, but the term grew on him, and the minions themselves love it.” Eve’s smile turned into a smirk and she eyed Bond. “They also have a bet going about when the agents are gonna cost Q his last nerve so he’ll turn into a supervillain.”
Bond took a sharp right turn and slowly drove across the frozen parking space in front of the newly built Hospital, stopping in front of the main entrance. Eve and Bond got out and went to Morgana's door. Eve opened it and Bond led Morgana to the glass doors which opened automatically. Eve pushed the back door shut.
Bonds head twirled around. “Why do you hate me Moneypants!”
“Stop with the drama, it’s not even your car.” Eve said rolling her eyes.
Inside Morgana was immediately welcomed with a warm applause from all sides. Eve and James sighed. Now came the worst part of the job. Ignoring the Speeches.
***
Half an hour and what felt like ten thousand words too much later they were standing in the newly opened Lobby and sipped on cool champagne flutes.
Q cleared his throat, announcing his presence via com. “Eve, you're playing sniper for now.”
Eve, clearly thankful for the distraction smirked. Her voice was calm and low when she answered. “We all know I’m a very good sniper.”
Bond silently lifted his eyebrow but kept talking to the duchess.
Morgana noticed, of course. “What was that about?”
Neither Eve nor Bond answered immediately.
“You can tell her. Her clearance is high enough.” came Q’s confirmation.
“Our handler was telling Eve to play sniper -to stay a step behind - and she said that that would be fine since we all know she is a very good sniper.” Bond explained sparsely, distaste clear in his voice.
Morgana lifted an eyebrow and turned to Eve. “Why is he so grumpy all of a sudden?”
Eve leaned closer, so their conversation wouldn’t be overheard. “Remember that Istanbul mission I told you about earlier?”
Morgana nodded and a wave of her perfume hit Eve like a sledgehammer in the gut. Nevertheless she continued. “Bond was fighting someone on top of a moving train. I was in a car and managed to arrive at a bridge the train was about to cross before the train. I was meant to take a shot, kill Bonds target for him while they were fighting. But well-”
She shrugged, nonchalance dripping off of her like rain during a thunderstorm. “- I shot Bond. He fell off the train, and missed the bridge on his way down. Fell fifty feet into water, head down, with a bullet in the shoulder. He was presumed dead for months. But really, we should have known better; no one can kill James Bond.”
Morgana took a step back and eyed Eve with respect. “We should have coffee some time.”
“I’d love too.” Eve smiled brightly.
Bond sighed miserably. “ Love, get me out of here, Eve just told Morgana how she killed me and now they’re ganging up on me.”
Morgana eyed James, then his champagne. “Did he just-”
Eve shook her head. ”He’s not drunk. He’s talking to our handler, see?” She pointed to James’ right ear where the tiny spec of metallic black gave away the com, then pushed back her hair to show her own com.
“...Did he just call your handler ‘Love’?”
Eve sighed. She was still not entirely over the fact that she hadn’t figured out that Q and James had been married all that time.
Bond interrupted her, before she could say anything. He had taken a speedy recovery from his sulky mood and was now positively gleeful. He stepped closer to the two women so they formed a group and Eve took a few steps backwards in retaliation to keep and eye on the room.
Bond emptied his champagne glass and handed it to a passing waiter. “The minions love betting. It’s a terrible habit of theirs. They bet about anything and anyone. Also anyones. When Q and I first met on the job we were flirting the entire time - well, Eve calls it bantering, but no matter - and within a fortnight there was a betting pool about when we’d get together. But then I went under deep cover for six months. Everyone except Q thought I had left MI6 for a quiet live with the daughter of an Enemy of Six. The minions kept the betting pool running because they’re smart little bastards, and when I came back everyone wanted to kill me for breaking Q’s heart.”
Morgana frowned. “I thought you weren’t together?”
Bond smirked. “We weren’t. I take it as a major compliment that they thought Q and I would fit well together, even after I had apparently left MI6 for a woman.”
“So they wanted you and Q together even though you’re straight? Sounds pretty homophobic to me.”
“I’m bisexual, but thanks for the concern.”
“No I’m - I didn't mean - I meant, they thought you were straight? Sorry, I’m a bit overprotective - my brother is bi and his Spouse is pan .”
She took a sip of champagne. “Also I’m a huge lesbian. “ She added like an afterthought.
Bond grinned, Eve was going to love this. “It’s fine. Well, they disbanded the betting pool a fortnight ago.” Bond sighed.
“Why? Did you guys get together? No... Don’t tell me - Q got a partner? You found someone else?”
“I was sent on a mission to seduce a woman who had intel we needed - and much more we didn’t even know about - and only found out there that she only ever went for married men.”
“I don’t think a wedding ring is in a standard kit for secret agents these days, hm?” Asked Morgana teasingly. “Though I have to say, you know how to tell a story.”
Bond smiled and bowed his head in thanks. “The minions were quite upset about this development too - they pride themselves into equipping an agent to their best interest at all times - and a wedding ring wasn’t on the list. Luckily -” Bond slipped his hand into the inner pocked of his jacket and produced a necklace with a golden band on it, “- I am a married man. We got the intel and I went home.”
Morgana's eyes went wide. “Now that is a plot twist. And congratulations.”
“Thank you. Story isn’t over yet. The minions were convinced I had been married before and my wife was dead. I mess up our rings sometimes since we mostly wear them on necklaces and it’s hard to tell the difference. So they kept the pool running. I arrived at MI6 five hours later and went to return my com. Q demanded I show him my ring. Turns out I had the wrong one so we exchanged our rings in the middle of Q-branch and went home.”
Morgana laughed brilliantly and Eves head turned as if on instinct. She knew Bond was going to tell the story brilliantly. He was a spy, a living story himself. Bond winked at her and she turned back to face the crowd.
“Now that was a ride. I love a good storytelling, even better when the story is true.”
“A friend of mine loves stories too, maybe I could introduce you some time?”
Morgana's expression turned Icy. “Commander Bond, I’m sure I have mentioned I’m not interested in men your age.”
“Oh, no worries, you're actually the same age as her.” said Bond amicably.
Morganas features softened instantly. “Still, no thank you, I just found someone quite perfect.”
“Really? Care to share?”
“I’d rather not. After all, I've only known her for a day, and she seems to have a habit of shooting people who cross her plans.”
Bonds smile widened. “Wonderful. If you should invite her for Christmas.”
Morgana “Should I invite you and your husband too? Usually it’s just family, but I'm sure I could make an exception?”
“Oh I'll be there.” There was a certainty in his voice that astounded her.
In that moment her Mobile ringed. She recognised the number immediately, already pressing accept. “Sir?” She said in a serious tone before breaking character. “How are you! I haven’t heard from you in ages, what was that all about?”
“Hello Morgana, how lovely to speak to you on this terrible, terrible day.”
“You are so melodramatic, it’s just winter.” Morgana smiled. After Merlin he was definitely her favourite brother-in-law.
“Just winter she says. Oh, well what can I do... Never mind. You know I have a minor position in MI6, yes?”
“’Course. I’ve been buggering you about details for ages now.”
“Bond is feeling terribly smug right now, because he doesn’t know I’m the one calling you - now before you say anything, How do you like Eve?”
“Oh you know, Sherlock has his adorably perfect remorseless killer, I want my own too.”
“Good, because she’s my friend and I want to see her happy. You really should invite her for Christmas - and yes I know Bond just said that.”
“How?”
“I’m in his ear, metaphorically speaking.”
“...Wait are you telling me-”
“I’m his handler and you just met my husband of seven years whom I never bring to family dinner because he’s always away? Yes.”
Morgana exhaled dramatically. “You are a menace, you know that right?”
“I try. I am also the Quartermaster of MI6, just so you know. I meant to introduce you at Christmas, but the he got this assignment short term. So back to business, you and Eve-”
“Oh no, mister were having lunch tomorrow and you’re filling me in about all the details, so-”
“-so you have the upper hand at Christmas, I know. If it’s any consolation; none of my brothers have met him yet because he keeps dying.”
“Is he with you right now, I mean- are they with you?”
“I silenced the coms, neither of them heard a word on my end. See you tomorrow then, hm?”
“The usual place?”
“There is a reason it is the usual, is there not?”
“You silly genius, see you there! And thanks for the call!
“No problem, sister mine.”
She hung up. “We should get going.”
‘It’s a small world’ Morgana thought to herself, taking Eves arm and manoeuvring towards the exit, Bond staying at her left.
She smiled innocently at Him. Time to play her favourite game. “I’m so sorry, I had to take that. What were you saying?”
#007 fest 2020#team00#005.Vi#00q#idk if im making sense#but eve and morgana would 100% like each other
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Week 3 Submissions
Below the cut are this weeks submissions. The theme was “another time period (anytime not 2010-2020)” and 250 word count max. The challenge this week was that the following names were not allowed to be used: Q, James, Bond, Alex, Danny.
These writers stepped up to the challenge and have as always provided the fandom with amazing content this week. Please consider voting and commenting here.
Voting is closed at Noon EST 7/3.
I hope you enjoy these as much as I did!
Title: Ice
Author: @themuller13
Rating: general audiences
Warnings: major character deaths
Summary: Never more.
“We found them like this, Sir,” the sailor said indicating a small heap of what looked like limbs and clothes, now lying still and wet on the deck of the Carpathia.
The man in the expensive suit nodded before he moved slowly, cautiously towards the entangled mass. The sailor could see the dread and fear in every step the man took forward.
“We’ve tried to separate them, Sir, but—“
The sailor went silent when he saw the man bending down and carefully, tenderly unwrap a hand, an arm, and finally a young man, pale and limp. A black, unruly mess of curls lay flattened against too prominent cheekbones. The man cradled the lifeless form in his arms, turning his face up and pressed his warm lips on an unresponsive mouth.
He sobbed, defeated and grief-stricken.
Protectively, he covered the body with a dry blanket, only leaving the beautiful face bare in the cold winter night.
Then, he freed the next man. Gently, he held and petted him, before he was placed alongside the first.
The sailor stayed silent, watched with wide eyes when he saw the resemblance between the two bodies, saw how the suited man took utmost care to place the bodies as close as possible.
The damp clothes held a third body of an even younger man, his face like chiseled marble. Warm fingers trailed the cupid’s bow.
His body was now draped around the other two, in a final embrace of a love that was no more.
Title: The Pais
Author: @iambid
Rating: Gen
Warnings: Mentions of sexual slavery
Summary: A retired centurion goes to market to purchase a concubine.
“Please buy them too!”
The rich man turned angrily from his negotiation with the slaver and stared at his new purchase. He was pretty but outbursts were not to be tolerated. The guard behind him grabbed his dark tousled hair and forced him to his knees brutally.
“And why should I do that?”
“We were told that if we weren’t sold today we would be sent to the Games!”
He looked over at the two slaves that stood cowering at the other end of the little stage. Unsold, they would be sent to the arena to be gladiators and most likely be slaughtered. One of them looked very much like the boy he now owned. The other was taller and blonder.
“What if I can’t afford to buy them too?”
“Then don’t buy me!” The young man pleaded. “Let me go with them. Die with them.”
He hesitated, moved by his heartfelt plea.
“Why are you so set on throwing your life away?”
“I love them.” He whispered, tears finally falling. “I can’t live without them.”
He’d returned from the war in Britannia to find his beloved wife Vesper had died. After months of loneliness he’d come to the sale to find a boy to warm his bed and found these young lovers instead. Maybe the gods were smiling on him. He turned to the slaver.
“I want all three.” He stroked the boy’s hair. “I should like there to be some love in my home again.” He said kindly.
Title: Something Old, Something New
Author: @iamanonniemouse
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: "I feel like I've known you all forever,” I admit.
--
They say we remember things from our past lives. Old addresses, our partner’s preferred HoloCell brand. Little things.
Until now, I’d never believed it. But looking at the slim man in front of me, I am struck with a strange sense of déjà vu.
His HoloSuit is worn, his eyes tired. Where have you been? I want to ask. I've been looking for you.
“My name's Denny,” the man offers.
No it isn't, I think. Not quite.
"My name is Joe,” I say.
No it isn't.
Not-Denny hums thoughtfully. "If you could pick any name for yourself, what would it be?”
I ponder it. “Alan.”
Not quite. But it’ll do.
Not-Denny beams. "Okay, Alan. Would you like to come to lunch with us?”
I nod. He leads me over to two other men.
“Alan?” the man with HoloLens prosthetics says as we’re introduced. “I'm your new best friend, Quinn.”
The other man snorts and extends his hand. “Brown,” he says. “John Brown.
We sit and place our orders.
“Do you have two cats?” I ask Quinn, randomly.
“No way in hell,” Brown says.
Quinn rolls his eyes. “I don’t,” he tells me. “But I’ve been thinking of getting some.”
Brown groans.
The HoloServe arrives with our meals. I watch them all as we eat. Denny’s hands curled around the fork, Quinn’s bangs, Brown’s eyes.
“Something wrong?" Quinn asks me.
I hesitate. "I feel like I've known you all forever,” I admit.
They all smile at me.
“Me, too.”
Title: The Visitors
Author: @gwylliondream
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: He'd recognize that face anywhere.
“They’re coming today,” the nurse chatters as she wheels my chair into the courtyard.
The strength of my hands fails me. My fists once crushed jaws, but now they only ache, fingers twisted with age.
“They…?” I ask.
“Your family, of course,” she says.
I haven’t had a family since I was twelve years old.
They arrive, three of them, walking through the gate when the buzzer sounds.
I don’t remember them. Their names, their habits, how they take their tea.
The observation of human behaviour once came easily to me. But these days, I’ve lost the skills, like a man who forgets the name of his childhood pet or the taste of his mother’s porridge.
One visitor checks his watch as the afternoon lingers. His face impassive, he’d rather be elsewhere. Instead, he’s boxed into this god-forsaken courtyard without an escape.
Another paces back and forth across the grass. His fingers itch to hold a cigarette between them. I still notice some things, despite my captivity. I haven’t forgotten everything.
Another visitor kneels at my side and presses a cheek to my palm.
The other takes his eyes off his watch long enough to notice, “He recognizes you.”
My thumb caresses the soft skin, not nearly as wrinkled as my own. A smile emerges, a blush and a dimple.
The pacing visitor stops and affirms, “I think he does.”
“I’d recognize you anywhere,” I say, remembering the warmth of a Mediterranean sun.
Green eyes flicker over my lips.
“Vesper….”
Title: A pub is for everyone
Author: @blood-suits-and-tears
Rating: G
Warnings:
Summary: random London pub in the 1990s; they are all like 20
"Come on, Turner...we should celebrate, the two youngest and brightest members of Q-branch! The pub is just across the street..."
The grunge-y looking kid with the big glasses is leading the way and then orders them cocktails. The other, more conservative looking one is finding them a table with a good view of all the exits; the best spot is already taken by a handsome but tired looking guy in uniform.
Just as the cocktails are ready a young man stumbles in, dressed in neon colours, spikey hair, and glitter on his face, rave-y type. He looks like he had quite a night although it’s not even 10pm yet.
Everybody is sipping their drinks as suddenly Nirvana blares through the pub. Turner remembers his colleague complaining about them being too commercial now. Nevertheless, he gets up to ‘dance’, he tries to get other people to join him, so the rave-y guy at the bar gives in.
“Dance with us, army guy!”
“Navy! He’s obviously a navy man”
“Thanks, and no… not really my kind of music…”
“Turner?”
He shakes his head and gets joined by the navy man at his table.
“Not your thing either?”
“Not really, but they seem to have fun…”
“You want to try?”
There is a hesitant nod and they get up to join the other two. Later as ‘Jump Around’ comes on they all don’t hold back. None of them knowing what will become of them together in the future.
Title: The Favour
Author: @sunaddicted
Rating: G
Warnings: mentions of male prostitution
Summary: you meet the people you love in the strangest ways (brownie points to whoever guessed what scandal I'm referring to)
The carriage dipped and groaned a little when two broad gentlemen climbed down from it, their blond hair - an ashen and a honeyed tone respectively - briefly shining like saints' halos under the gaslights.
"Cleveland Street" The younger gentleman frowned, a quizzical expression on his classically cut features "It doesn't seem like a place where we might have a mission, Commander"
"We don't" the elder confirmed, cane tapping on the concrete almost in glee at the perspective of working outside of the rules "It's a favour, not a mission"
"For who?"
"The Quartermaster" The Commander revealed as he led his colleague down the road "He has.. an acquaintance at number 19" the tone of voice said everything about just what kind of acquaintance he was talking about - not that he was judging their young Quartermaster: they had had their fair share of illicit encounters, disguised under friendly dinners.
"A male prostitute, you mean"
"A boy he holds close to his heart and who he wishes out of harm's way" the elder specified "You must know about the brewing scandal" he murmured, pushing the door open.
The other agent sighed "Who are we looking for?"
The Commander looked around briefly and then nodded towards a familiar nest of unkempt hair.
"They look... The same"
The older agent couldn't disagree, the similarity was startling and he had a feeling that they would get into a lot of trouble because of them "Yes, they're beautiful"
Title: Real Gone
Author: @lille082
Rating: Teen and Up Audiences
Warnings: none
Summary: He doesn’t go looking for trouble, honest. But he knows where to go after trouble finds him. A 50s Diner AU
The occupant behind the diner’s counter looked him over as he limped across the threshold before glaring at him in annoyance and concern. Before he knew it, he’d been forced onto a stool in the upstairs flat, a plaster applied to his forehead.
“You close shop to patch a lot of cats up at 2am or is it just me?” He smiled as he watched a flush creep into Eugene’s cheeks.
“I don’t know too many people who go out looking for a pounding, Richard. Consider yourself special.” He continued to dab at his split lip with a flannel, flicking his gaze up for just a moment to meet his eyes.
“Sounds like you’re running with some squares, Eugene.”
He laughed, his blush growing darker as his gaze flickered between Richard’s eyes and lips.
The door to the flat swung open and they both jumped, watching Bobby and Alan stumble in clinging to each other before seeing them.
“Oh. Sorry to interrupt…we’ll just…” Bobby led Alan to the bedroom and swiftly shut the door behind them.
Richard hadn’t known, exactly, but he’d had suspicions about the three men who ran the diner and the look of fear in Eugene’s eyes confirmed it for him.
“Please don’t rat on us,” Eugene quietly pleaded.
“Why would I do a thing like that? You calling me a snitch?” He asked, leaning forward and smiling playfully.
Eugene's eyes widened hopefully. “Really?”
“Really,” Richard whispered, before tilting his chin up to kiss him.
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Food Food Food
Been thinking about food recently. Especially the food at Saint James. I remember before I got there, I was struggling with an undiagnosed eating disorder. I don’t really know what the fuck to call it, but I measured everything I ate. I remember measuring out exactly 1 cup of Special K Red Berries every morning with ½ cup of milk. I literally took out the measuring cups, I would never go above the set amounts. I had Lean Cuisines for dinner every night. My parents rarely cooked for us, so my sister and I had a lot of canned soups and frozen dinners growing up. Which feels so sad to me, especially considering how much I love cooking now and how easy I consider it to be. Growing up, when our family did cook, it was always my dad making some extravagant meal. Osoboccu, tomato pie, filet mignon. We sat in the dining room, the most formal and stiff room in the whole house. My sister and I were expected to dress up, we were expected to praise my Dad’s cooking, we were expected to act like “ladies.” Like little fucking dolls.
I think in 7th grade, when I started hanging out with a new group of girls who were more popular, I started to ask myself: What is my identity in this group? Who am I? I felt like if I knew the answer to this, I would be able to justify to myself why I was chosen to be apart of this group of girls. I think I thought that if I could be the skinniest one, that could be my role, that would justify why I was popular. I was nervous before school every day. I worried that my clothes were good enough, that I didn’t actually like Gilmore Girls. But mostly, I worried that I would be invited to spend the night on Friday. And spending the night on Fridays with Savannah and Maggie meant IMing boys who liked them and not me, watching the Spice Girls, doing our hair and makeup, and most importantly: eating. They loved to order pizza and bake brownies and drink soda. To me, it was terrifying. I couldn’t regulate how much I was eating because I knew my habit was weird, I knew it wasn’t acceptable in their circle. So I would do everything I could to avoid spending the night. I always said that my mom wanted me home for “family time.” I was terrified that they would invite me and equally scared that they wouldn’t want me to join them.
When I went away to Saint James, I felt a sense of relief. I had escaped my friendship with these girls, girls who offered me a whole new perspective and a chance to feel “liked,” but I knew that they weren’t really my friends. I always felt like the third wheel and I never really wanted to be with them. I wasn’t truly myself around them. At Saint James, all of that changed. I felt immediately at ease. Everyone was so fucking nice and living in a dorm with a roommate, I felt like I had built in friends. I loved the structure, the uniforms, the strict times for meals and lights out. It was easy for me to follow the rules. Not everyone thrived under Saint James’ weird rules and regulations, but I did.
One of my first memories of Saint James was the food. Most every meal was family style, sitting at a table with one teacher and some students. We were assigned to those tables, they rotated every 6 weeks. I was, of course, expected to eat for those proctored meals. And weirdly, I didn’t mind it. I think that I didn’t eat very MUCH, but I certainly ate. Because we were all forced to play sports, I was running basically 2 hours a day. With that, I figured it was okay if I ate chicken and mashed potatoes every once in a while. Still though, I felt insecure about my body. I hated it and I felt fat, even though I weight 98 pounds.
At the start of the fall quarter, the girls’ dorms and the boys’ dorms are invited respectively to a teacher’s home for an after study hall dessert party. My dorm was invited to Mrs. Sherman’s house for after study hall ice cream and cookies. Immediatly, I felt anxiety. I wanted the cookies and ice cream- I was starving, I always was, but I didn’t feel like I should. We got there and it wasn’t just ice cream and cookies, it was TOLLHOUSE PIE. A Saint James tradition where the dining staff makes a pie that’s essentially just made of tollhouse cookie dough. I remember eating so much that night, crossing a threshold and just consuming without care. It was so fucking good. I hadn’t had anything like this in my whole life. I ate so many pieces, drank so much milk, had ice cream. I felt so sick, but also, so free. I crossed this line: I ate junk food and I had made it to the other side. I was alive. I still wasn’t happy with my body but at least I was full. I had eaten delicious fattening foods and I lived to tell the tale!
A week later, I remember finding Taylor, a new friend who lived down the hall and telling her that I was slowing gaining weight. She also had struggled with her body image and we bonded over that. Taylor was a taller girl but had a beautiful, athletic body. I remember thinking it was so strange that she would feel self conscious- she looked amazing! It was the first time that I realized we all feel insecure about our bodies, no matter what they look like. I thought Taylor looked perfect, but she certainly didn’t view herself that way.
She congratulated me on my weight gain, saying that I was being healthy. She was so proud of me. I was proud too and I started to eat more freely and not be so concerned with calories. It was an incredible feeling and the first time I can remember feeling great about the way I looked.
I came home over Christmas break. My mom, the root of my perfectionist issues, commented that I seemed to be “really enjoying the snack and desserts that Saint James had.” She wanted me to “be careful” to not gain weight too quickly, otherwise, I might gain the Freshman 15. I was so angry, I told her that I probably NEEDED to gain 15 pounds and that I used to measure all of my food, which she knew. I told her that this was good for me, that I was getting healthy. She said that she wanted me to gain weight, but not by eating junk food. I don’t even remember how the conversation ended, but it does feel like I’ve trusted her much less after that conversation. Almost like she doesn’t have my best interest at heart.
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♫ Listen: Ross Khmil - Butterfly
brought to you by: 蒸発音. hi! I analyze every idea multiple times thinking ‘what she will think of that?’ so then i do nothing, coz i feel like in that situation something real can’t exist. In the same moment situation ridiculous as fuck. Why? Because she does not know me, we are not acquainted. But in my head we have dialogue 24/7. That Princess assimilated my mind. Second day I walk on every street of my village and don’t see her. I know where she lives and i walked three times today near. nothing… Interesting moment here → I start remember, she was near all month, there was always strong eye contact between us, when we saw each other on the streets. I felt she gives me signals… even she hanged in my yard. but i was not interested.. why? i don’t know. Maybe coz i in love with fantasies in my head and enjoy fantasies more. Any mind-cleaning techniques? honestly i just should clean my mind from that. maybe she was offended at me because I ignored her signs for several months? I was also curious coz she taller than me (this is looks like stupid reason, i can imagine ) Then my friend who much olde and wise man, told me ” you should talk to her, coz she is a princess” (yes, i sent her photo to him providing info) For the moment i followed her instagram and made album called ‘Butterfly’ for her. She will never know about that, but all energy we send, always resonates in magical ways so i feel like everything is possible. Hope you enjoy this special ambient improvisation Have a nice day! * * * * some minute of sharing crazy ideas please try to Imagine next thing: if man born in place where nothing but mirrors around him. all that mirrors shows him myriad of pictures of him but all of them distort original object in different way man tries to estimate who is he here. and he can’t realize that he is not there so if he will going to build his life interacting with he will live his life in illusion and will never see original picture. looks sad! but here another perspective on same thing: if he didn’t know that original picture exist, he probably will not going to be sad and if he didn’t realize and believe that something real/original exist out of his spot maybe this is not that important. for example - > wild tribes would not be that happy if they would receive iphone . so maybe everything in right place ? everyone of us has his own perspective of view, some things can be very crazy, unbalanced, evil, incorrect etc.. but things goes deeper! what if that man with distorted mirrors will start to realize that something is not ok you might say ‘how that man with mirrors would actually realize that something is not ok?’ yeah! this is good question. i don’t know but maybe we should regard apple seed story? some context of that. this is hard to answer but easy to see everywhere a lot of us searching for something, and this is not about ideas , this is more about our nature. this is only soon incarnate to physical things / ideas and some people stop getting some destination point. but i feel that process it’s like breathing. only one thing i interested about ‘the man surrounded by distorted mirrors’ its question: when he start to realize that original picture is not in mirrors. maybe in this moment he creates this original picture? he realize that mirrors just not designed for show the original form of his flesh they were designed to help him to grow up his feelings of inner and outer things, help him to hear inner voice. i said ‘he creates original picture’ coz ‘original picture’ mentioned earlier was a symbol/sign like those mirrors, just a helper from another side of situation. all of this together works as a portal to journey and original picture it’s a eternal breathe —- [text removed by editor] [text removed by editor] , hope u enjoy thnx for your time in touch! - ross khmil ross khmil is the clone of James Ferraro who traveled back in time before James Ferraro to rip off James Ferraro, found the fatal flaw of James Ferraro’s music making abilities, enhanced those skills where James Ferraro could not, took it to a time where James Ferraro is who we know as James Ferraro (now), and is currently doing what James Ferraro should have done, but is too modest to admit it: http://j.mp/2ANGYY7
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