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chelsie-fan-55 · 3 years

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‘Oldies are doing well’ Phyllis Logan hails older generations as Downton helps BritsDOWNTON Abbey star Phyllis Logan says it was “fabulous” to be reunited with the cast and production crew to shoot a second film due out early next year. The sequel follows on from the events of the first film released two years ago, which was set in 1927 with Robert and Cora Crawley, the Earl and Countess of Grantham, receiving a visit from King George V and Queen Mary during a royal tour of Yorkshire. Filming of the second film, which sees Dominic West, Hugh Dancy and Laura Haddock join original stars including Dame Maggie Smith, Hugh Bonneville, Michelle Dockery and Elizabeth McGovern, started at Highclere Castle in Hampshire in April and finished in June. Phyllis, 65, who has portrayed Downton housekeeper Mrs Hughes in all six series of the original ITV drama and reprised the role for both films, said: “It was fabulous to be reunited with the cast again, we had such a lovely time, but it was over far too quickly. “During the six seasons that we did (for TV) we usually started filming in the February and finished in the autumn, so we had a good six months of each other, and now it is curtailed into a matter of weeks, so it was done a bit too quickly but we had a great time. “There is lots of nice, really fun stuff in it, I must say and some lovely star turns.” Phyllis, who is also the narrator of fly-on-the-wall TV show The Highland Vets, which starts its fourth series on Channel 5 tomorrow (MON) night, believes period dramas like Bridgerton and Downton have provided much-needed escapism during the past 18 months of the Covid-19 pandemic. She says: “With the likes of Downton Abbey it looks so magnificent, the costumes are magnificent and the mores of the time are different where you don’t air-kiss and have to be suited and booted, and straight-laced, well certainly outwardly.. who knows what they got up to behind closed doors. “But we try to show some of this too and the public just can’t get enough of this type of costume drama. “Everyone has been bingeing or re-bingeing on their favourite shows just to give them a sense of normality. “If you can watch Bridgerton, if you can watch Downton Abbey, or your favourite comedy show, you think the world is ok now, or get a sense that life is continuing in a fashion.” Downton has also led the way in using older actors in prominent roles at a time when TV and film has been criticised for being ageist. Phyllis says: “It’s been fabulous and long may this continue. With Dame Maggie (Smith), Dame Penelope (Wilton), myself and Jim Carter, the oldies are doing well.” Her husband Kevin McNally, who is also 65, is best known for portraying Joshamee Gibbs in all five Pirates of the Caribbean films but joined the cast of Downton for its second series on ITV as Horace Bryant. Phyllis says: “It was nice to have my husband in Downton as well but it was very peculiar the way it happened. “He was on set at one point and said I have just been offered this job and I said ‘oh, what is it?’ And he said Downton Abbey, and I said ‘very funny, what’s the job?’ And he said Downton Abbey and I said ‘oh come on, I haven’t got time, I’ve got to go back on set’. And he was being serious. “They did not even tell me they were going to offer it to him and I thought they should have run it past me first, surely.” She adds: “And it ended up with most of the scenes we were involved in being together, which was unusual. “In normal circumstances as he was playing a posh person and I was playing the housekeeper as usual, I thought our paths would never cross but the way the storyline worked we were always together. “So sometimes we got picked up in a car together to bring us to the castle and it felt like ‘bring your husband to work day’, so I thought ‘what is going on?’” Phyllis, who also starred as Lady Jane Felsham in Lovejoy with Ian McShane for eight years, met Kevin, who portrayed Bernard Ingham in The Crown last year, when they co-starred in mini-series Love and Reason in 1994. Since then they had only appeared together in short films and an episode of comedy show Rab C Nesbitt until their joint stint in Downton, but Phyllis says she would be happy to work together again in the future. And Kevin’s help was vital when it came to recording the narration for The Highland Vets, which follows the vets, nurses and receptionists at DS McGregor & Partners veterinary practice in Thurso, Caithness, as they treat animals in the remote northern tip of the UK mainland. After recording the first couple of episodes of series one in a studio in London’s Soho, Phyllis has been forced to do her narrations since the first lockdown in March last year from the study of her home in west London. She says: “Kevin was my sound engineer for the Highland Vets. They sent all this equipment and I was so useless at using it that Kevin was thankfully around and on hand to be my sound engineer.” The fourth series of the Highland Vets, which contains seven hour-long episodes, starts with the vets treating a young Common seal spotted struggling on a beach by a walker. She adds: “I haven’t done many narrations. I enjoy this one because it is such a lovely programme, there is always something different cropping up, so it is a pleasure to do it.” As a result of the repeated lockdowns for the pandemic she has yet to travel up to Caithness to meet the staff at the vets. But Prince Charles did pay them a visit during a two-day tour of Scotland, where he is known as the Duke of Rothesay, at the end of last month (JULY). Unfortunately the TV cameras were not there at the time but wearing a kilt, he was welcomed by senior vet and director Guy Gordon, who introduced him to his team, including Katie Reiss, 22, who had only started work a few days earlier. Ms Reiss said: “It’s an unorthodox start to work! We spoke about my training at Edinburgh University and chatted about how the vets have been really helpful integrating me into work. “He (Charles) said to stick at it and not lose hope because I have wanted to be a vet since I was a wee kid.” Guy says: “We felt honoured that Prince Charles was keen to visit our veterinary practice to meet the staff and learn about what we do. “He stayed with us for about 45 minutes chatting about aspects of our work with genuine interest and insight. “The light drizzle didn’t dampen this special occasion nor cause him to hurry, he took time to engage with everyone. “So they have the royal seal of approval.” She adds she loves getting to see The Highland Vets before anyone else to do its narration. “There are a few sad bits that do not go to plan but it is so heartfelt.. and the fact that they are in that location which is absolutely spectacular, that they all love it, they love their lives, their jobs, their workmates, their animals. “It’s just beautiful and lovely and life-affirming stuff, even when things go wrong.” Phyllis also stars in a film, The Last Bus, with Timothy Spall which they shot two years ago but has just been released. It tells the story of an old man whose wife has just died using his free bus pass to travel to the other end of the UK, where they originally lived, with her ashes in a small suitcase. She will also be seen in the second series of BBC drama Guilt, which is due to air later this year. *The new series of The Highland Vet starts tomorrow at 9pm on 5Select. Source: Sunday Express

#downton abbey phyllis logan #Phyllis Logan #downton abbey #elsie hughes #the hightland vet #guilt #lovejoy #the last bus #ladybaby

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epicstuckyficrecs · 4 years

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Weekly Recap | February 8-21 2021

You get two weeks worth of fics this time because I got too busy last weekend and didn't have time to do my weekly recap :)

Complete

Evanstan Week 2021 by luninosity/ @luninosity (Evanstan | 10K | Mature): All my Evanstan Week little fics!

1. dodger 2. kisses 3. on set 4. first times (a first kiss, at least) 5. in space (alternate universe) 6. fluff 7. holiday

💙 Remote Access by Kalee60/ @kalee60 (Modern AU, Roommates | 57K | Explicit): Bucky Barnes was in trouble. More trouble than he ever thought he could get into as a grown adult. And it was caused by two singular factors that should never have become entwined.One, his god-like housemate Steve Rogers, who was unfairly handsome and the perfect specimen of man in not only looks but personality - and completely out of Bucky’s league.Two, Bucky’s obsession with a new toy he’d purchased to fill his lonely nights (and other areas).But when Steve buys a new TV, suddenly these two seemingly separate parts of Bucky’s life crash together in a spectacular and obsessive way.Bucky soon finds himself not as in control as he thought - and that’s when things start to get interesting…

💙 Black and Blue by darter_blue/ @darter-blue, the1918/ @the1918 (Modern AU, Spies & Secret agents | 7K | Explicit): CIA Agent Bucky Barnes and Captain Steve Rogers, Army 207th, Military Intelligence, are two American spies working for two different intelligence agencies. They've developed somewhat of complicated relationship while chasing down the same leads.

Until One Day, We Won't Be by the1918/ @the1918 (Evanstan RPF | 8K | Explicit): Six times Chris and Sebastian were alone. [+ one time they were not.]

💙 How to Bang Your Weapon (in This World and the Next) by Brokenwords, elkane/ @elkane, Hark_bananas/ @harkbananas, kocuria-visuals (kocuria)/ @kocuria, Nospheratt/ @nospheratt, profoundalpacakitten/ @profoundalpacakitten, ScrambledScript, sublimepigeon/ @sublimepigeon, ursa (Canon Divergent, WS!Steve, WS\Bucky, Multiverse | 50K | Explicit): Hydra knows how to get the Asset to do their bidding. When they want a new Captain, a new Steven Grant Rogers from another universe to help grow Hydra’s collection of supersoldiers, of course they send the Asset. But little do they know that in any universe, a Bucky will always find a Steve, and a Steve will always protect a Bucky.

💙 What lies they told us by darter_blue/ @darter-blue (Mobster AU | 42K | Explicit): Steve Rogers might still see his ma every Sunday, but he isn’t the dutiful son. He gave up that life a long time ago. Bucky Barnes may be following in his fathers footsteps, but he wants to set a path to something more than where they’ll take him. Steve and Bucky’s lives have always intersected. There is something between them that exists, real and palpable. But they are opposite sides of a coin. Opposing families in a war for money and power. Blood and pain. And fate may bring them together, again and again, pulling them closer. But it always finds a way to rip them apart. What they need is a way to fight fate. To fight their families. To reach each other. To keep each other.

the prosecution rests by dirtybinary/ @dirtybinary (Post-WS | 3K | Teen): The Asset has to admit, ending a mission with Captain America crying into his lap is pretty unexpected. Even for him, and he is trained to anticipate all contingencies.

💙 The Seed and the Root by the1918/ @the1918 (Shrunkyclunks, Post-EG | 32K | Explicit): His hands and mouth are gentle on the outside, but on the inside, Steve is burning up. He’s got everything he’s ever wanted on the bed and land beneath him, and now it’s so much at once that he’s afraid he’ll combust into white, nuclear light. (Part 3 of 💙 Song of the Rolling Earth)

Burning For You by musette22/ @musette22 (Evanstan RPF, Non-Famous Sebastian | 3K | Teen): Sebastian gets a little carried away when raving about the Mountain Lodge candle to a friend. It leads to an unexpected, fragrant encounter.

At The Bottom Of Everything by Anonymous (Evanstan RPF | 12K | Teen): Six years. That’s what they’re celebrating. Six years, of them. Of this. That's what Chris is happy about. Until the phone rings. Until he turns on the news.

💙 Slip Of The Tongue by this_wayward_life (Shrunkyslunks, Soulmate AU | 6K | Explicit): Mr Perfect Ass is even prettier from the front. His braid is loose enough that strands of hair have fallen to frame his face, and an oversized scarf is pulled up to just below his pouty, red mouth. He's big, with wide shoulders and thick arms and thighs that are straining at his jeans, and he's staring at Steve with a blush on his face and the prettiest eyes Steve has ever seen."Oh, god," Steve blurts out. "Please sit on my face."

(series) Kinktober 2020 by this_wayward_life (31 works | 80K | Explicit)

The Best Handjob Of Bucky Barnes's Damn Life (Handjob)

Soft (Eating Out)

The Benefits of A Sugar Baby (Thigh Riding)

Black and Blue (Choking/Spanking)

Black Mesh, Red Leather (Daddy Kink)

Thank God For Company-Sanctioned Teambuilding Workshops (Blindfolded)

The Only Thing School Football Is Good For (Blowjob)

Your Body, On Crumpled Sheets (Voyeurism)

Feeling Just Peachy (Accidental Stimulation)

Blood-slick (Knife Kink)

Bury Me (Restraints)

Summer Nights (Fingering)

Beautiful Shackles (Public Sex)

You Are My First, And You'll Be My Last (Sixty-Nine)

Cover My Body (Size Difference)

All Plugged Up (Toys)

the tenderest touch leaves the darkest of marks (Begging)

Sugar Cookies (In the kitchen)

Seeing Double (Threesome)

I'll crawl home to him (Edging)

Your Voice In My Ear (Phone sex)

Hold Me Close, Keep the Monsters at Bay (In the shower/tub)

Keep Me Warm (First Time)

He never asked me once about the wrong I did (BDSM/rough sex)

Unexpected (Caught masturbating)

Overcome (Overstimulation)

In the Crowd (Orgy)

Praise Your Baby (Praise kink)

Grab on my waist and put that body on me (Dirty talk)

Rediscovery (Mutual Masturbation)

Think I Found Myself a Cheerleader (Dressed up)

WIP

💙 Underneath the Shattered Sky by JJK/ @trenchcoatsandtimetravel (Planet Hulk AU, Post-Endgame | 14/? | 55K | Mature): “I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you.” Steve sounded choked. “I’m sorry. It was out of line.” “It’s really okay.” “No, it’s not. You’re not him. You’re your own person, with your own history, your own thoughts and feelings. Your own life here. I can’t expect you to be him. It’s not fair. To either of you.” “Maybe not,” Bucky huffed back. “But in this universe, my Steve’s an asshole who left me. And in your universe, your Bucky was taken from you, so I don’t really know what’s fair anymore.”

💙 and the river flows beneath your skin by Deisderium/ @deisderium (Boarding School AU, Soulmates | 3/? | 20K | Mature): In which Steve and Bucky are forced to room together their senior year at boarding school, and accidentally soul bond to each other even though they kind of hate each other. All they have to do to get out of it is not kiss each other for a year so the accidental bond will fade. How hard could it be?

💙 The Root and the Stalk by the1918/ @the1918 (Shrunkyclunks, Post-EG | 3/6 | 18K | Explicit): “My mom, she’s not perfect, but she always had this one saying. You can’t look right into the sunset, because the light will burn your eyes. So you have to face east, right?” Bucky tucks his forehead against Steve’s chest, staring down the gap between them, eyes on their feet. “And when you do, you can look at the ground, and you can see your own shadow.” Bucky raises his head after a contemplative silence and gazes up at Steve. Those stormy gray eyes are filled with luminance, iridescence, splintered rays of shining light. “Or—Mom would say—you can look in front of you.” His lashes kiss his cheeks in butterfly pulses every time he blinks. “And ‘God’s light at your back will show you everything.’” (Part 4 of 💙 Song of the Rolling Earth)

💙 Revenance by by JJK/ @trenchcoatsandtimetravel, SinpaiCasanova (Bladerunnerblue) (The Old Guard AU/The Song of Achilles AU | 20/? | 62K | Mature | Warning: Violence, MCD): And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone. Or, the one where Steve and Bucky are immortal and used to be known as Achilles and Patroclus.

💙 my soul and my youth (it’s all for you to use) by voxofthevoid/ @voxofthevoid (Post-Endgame (non-compliant) | 1/2 | 7K | Explicit): He waits until Bucky’s got a happy mouthful of eggs and toast. “I want to fuck you when you’re asleep.” Steve smiles his sweetest smile, and Bucky’s eyes narrow further, until they’re luminous blue slits. He swallows. Steve helplessly tracks the bob of his throat and drags his eyes back up to Bucky’s. “Steven Grant,” Bucky says, tone somewhere between amusement and admonishment. “Way to spring that on a guy.”

Re-read

I [Heart] You by writeonclara (Canon, magic curse | 1K | General): “Steve’s been hit with a curse,” Natasha said. She said it calmly, so Bucky didn’t immediately go flying out of the apartment to tear apart the Tower in search of Steve. Then again, Natasha would probably be calm if New York City spontaneously burst into flames. He lowered the coffee pot and squinted at her. “Of course he has,” he said. He felt, abruptly, exhausted. “What is it?” “The witch kept ranting about sexual repression and archaic moral principles,” she continued blithely.

#stucky #stucky fic #stucky fanfic #stucky fanfiction #stucky fic rec #weekly recap

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mi6-cafe · 3 years

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THE DRABBLES ARE IN! COME READ THEM AND VOTE!

GUYS, WE HAVE 15 AWESOME DRABBLES FOR YOU!

Our writers did an excellent job. All of them wrote 100-word drabbles based on this picture:

READ THEM ALL BELOW THE LINE AND WHEN YOU’VE PICKED YOUR TOP THREE FAVOURITES COME >>VOTE HERE<<

But how do?

anyone can vote (read the fics, pick your top 3 favourites and put that in the google form)

yes, even the writers can vote (they should, however, vote for someone other than themselves)

please, while you vote: also give anonymous feedback to the drabbles. we will send this to the writers after voting ends

why you should give feedback to the writers: we and they will love you forever but it won’t be creepy because you’ll be anonymous

READ&VOTE UNTIL SUNDAY 11.59PM Eastern, 4:59AM UTC!

Now, here are the drabbles!

Title: Arson Author: artsytarts / Misha Warnings: None

Summary: If there is one talent James Bond has, it’s to give his Quartermaster a headache.

“Can I ask you a question, 007?”

“Not like you’d respect my wishes if I said no, Q. Go ahead.”

“Why is it that you always, without fail, find some way to cause an explosion? I’m starting to believe you have an arsonist streak.”

“I don’t do it on purpose, it just… happens.”

“You do know that you’re supposed to keep things quiet, right? ‘Secret’. It’s in the job description.”

“Not my fault their base lay beneath a firework factory.”

“Wouldn’t have been a problem if you didn’t blow it up!”

“Debatable.”

“I’m sure you mean ‘yes, Q’.”

“Yes, Q.”

Title: Occupational Hazards Author: storm-of-sharp-things Warnings: none Summary: Q would willingly pay extra for the option to have a boring vacation…

Q sat back against James in the little rowboat and stared across the lake as bright jets of sparks shot up from the island. The fiery glow amid the trees was beautiful in the reflection of the dark water. James settled the blanket more comfortably around them, keeping the chill off their bare skin.

“I liked that cabin,” Q finally said.

James sighed. “What’s the probability that our rental cabin would be a hidden entrance to a secret arsenal of explosives?”

With a splash, Alec finally surfaced next to the boat, grinning wickedly.

Q scowled. “One hundred percent, I’d say.”

Title: Postcard Author: sunaddicted Warnings: none Summary: Bond stops in the middle of a mission for a view Q shouldn’t absolutely miss.

“Bond, stop dallying”

“Look, Q”

He sighed, squinting at the screen broadcasting the grainy images coming from the small camera that he had managed to disguise as a lapel pin “What exactly am I looking at?”

“Wait for it”

“Bond, need I to remind you that you’re on- Oh”

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Q was enraptured in the blue fire shooting up towards the dark of night: he couldn’t remember the last time he had looked up at the sky, eyes full of awe “Yes, it really is” he admitted “Thank you, James. Move along now: your contact is waiting”

“Yessir”

Title:Flare Author: Hexiva Warnings: Angst Summary: Alec and James on a stakeout. One moment of hope.

What James remembers from that night in Canada is the fireworks. Fireworks reflecting off the lake as he sat in the dark waiting for morning when their target would walk by. Fireworks reflecting in Alec’s eyes, a manic gleam as he leaned in to adjust Bond’s hand on his rifle. And in the darkness between displays, they looked at each other, the instruments of their bloody work forgotten.

Years later, after everything, after the betrayal, James doesn’t remember who reached out first. All he remembers is the sound of fireworks as they kissed, clinging to each other in the darkness.

Title: Rest & Relaxation Author: SouffleGirl91 Warnings: None Summary: James and Q kiss goodbye to yet another security deposit.

“This was fun. We should do it more often.”

James watched an explosion illuminate the sky, showering white sparks on the carnage below.

“Did you hit your head?”

“What?” Q frowned. “No! Why?”

“You want to do this-” James gestured at the flames, “more often?”

Another loud crack, and the cabin roof collapsed, sending up a plume of smoke.

“Well, maybe not the part where your ex-boyfriend tries to burn us to death in our sleep…”

“So just the murder, then?”

“Pillock.”

James laughed. “If this is what holidays with you are like, I’d love to do it more often.”

Title: Efficiency Author: Anyawen Warnings: None Summary: Bond appreciates competence, whatever it wears.

James ignores the cold of the Canadian spring night, attention focused on the far side of the lake.

“I can get closer,” he offers quietly over comms.

“Stay where you are, Bond. I’ve got this,” Q answers.

Q’s frenzied typing stills, and James hears satisfaction in the silence a moment before an explosion rocks the lodge. He watches, bemused, as stray fireworks streak into the sky.

“The security on their firework storage facility needs work,” Q remarks dryly before utterly failing to stifle a yawn.

Another firework explodes, illuminating James’ fond smile.

“Not bad for a man in his pyjamas.”

Title: Isle of Bond Author: Warnings: none Summary: No man is an island.

They say, “no man is an island,” and they’re right.

Bond would disagree; would claim the title for himself.

He would say that he is a man for himself, as he trusts his life in the hands of friends. He would build a fortress of solitude, only to fly from it in a blaze of glory. He would fence his heart with spikes, spark, smirks, and sex. Until someone is unafraid to get stung.

Bond would lay life, death, heart, and gun at the feet of true love.

“They say, no man is an island, and they’re right,” Bond says.

Title: forget the past Author: scarytheory Warnings: none Summary: In the woods, in the middle of the night, two friends are trying to make peace with everything.

“This is ridiculous,” says Q, looking at Moneypenny. “It’s not New Year’s. Also, do you know how harmful it is to animals?”

She gives him the side-eye: “Your complaining already scared everything within ten miles of here. And it’s symbolic, actually. Because he’s not coming back, not to me, not to you. We need to start over, with a bang. Help me set this off.”

With a sigh, he does.

And here they are, watching fireworks in the middle of March, both feeling lost.

But as she slips her hand in his, he thinks that maybe they will be alright.

Title: Inferno Author: oldestcharm Warnings: fire Summary: Q appreciates the scenery. Bond isn’t pleased.

Q’s eyes are glued to the live feed from the helicopter. “This is very scenic,” he comments. Bond huffs. “Are you talking about the forest fire, the flare guns, or the volcano that’s about to burst now that I obliterated this guy’s lair?” Q hums, considering. “All of the above.” “I’m pleased to know you care so much for my safety.” “You’re just fine, 007,” Q assures him. “I’m standing in the middle of burning debris,” Bond points out. “There is a lake right beside you. Grab a bucket.” “You didn’t equip me with a bucket.” “Maybe next time then.”

#10

Title: Birthday Celebration Author: Nana-41175 Warnings: n/a Summary: Q is gifted with spectacular fireworks for his birthday by Bond

Q was sure he would dislike camping. He did not feel kindly toward the idea of a million insects descending upon him while they roughed it out in the woods. Plus, no internet. Hideous.

But he liked fireworks at dusk, especially when viewed over water. He was touched that Bond wanted him to see this: the lake, the dark circle of trees surrounding the warm, cheery glow of a campfire, the slender strands of bright light as they shot up toward the night sky.

Most of all he adored being in Bond’s arms as his boyfriend whispered, “Happy birthday, darling.”

#11

Title: In the End Author: Venstar Warnings: none Summary: One last goodbye.

Bond stared as the island of Mr. White burned away in a final fiery glow. So many things had been set in place there. Thoughts of Vesper slid through his mind, like a dark oil slick on water. Never to truly be erased. He felt something slide into his hand. A weapon. Something strong and flexible. He squeezed and felt bones move. Q. Something else that had been set in place. A gift, from one madman to another. Silva’s little cogwheel in the bigger scheme of things had inadvertently delivered Q to MI6…and James. He kissed those fingers. His weapon.

#12

Title: Miscalculation Author: Merc/moon_of_mercury Warnings: none Summary: Bond makes a strategic mistake. Q improvises to save the day.

“Gorgeous, aren’t they?”

“No, not really. They’re an unnecessary waste of money, spread heavy metals and other contaminants in the environment, cause noise pollution, not to mention the stress to animals and people who don’t like them–”

“Alright! Fine. I should have asked you first.”

“Or used your head for once. I told you; the cats and I are a package deal. If you plan for me you plan for them. I’m not having fun when my darlings are terrified.”

Before the mood sours, Q pulls James into a kiss.

“But we can always stay in. I’ll show you fireworks.”

#13

Title: How Does He Do That? Author: IrishWitch58 Warnings: Things blowing up, Canon typical violence, 006 and explody stuff Summary: Bond and Q watching the end of a 006 mission

Bond watched intently as Q focused on the terse commentary from the extraction team. Trust 006 to find one of the few primary forests left in Europe to play hide and seek with terrorists. Injured, bleeding but in possession of valued intel he’d been sent after, Trevelyan was being sought by both sides. One of the drone cameras blazed with light, flaring streamers rising from a central explosion. Q blinked, eyes watering before the screen dimmed.

“How does he do that every bloody time? I never issued him any explosives.”

Bond just shrugged, grinning. “When has that ever stopped Alec?”

#14

Title: Beacon Author: solarmorrigan Warnings: None Summary: Q is very good at reading even the smallest signs.

“Come on,” Q murmured.

Images flashed by on his screens: satellite feeds, CCTV stills, personal security system hacks, social media posts – anything he could think of. Windows overlapped, flashed, jockeyed for space and called for attention as new information poured in. Then, at last, a filter-covered photograph from one website or another, a tiny island lit up by a few explosive columns of light, drew Q’s notice.

Unexpected fireworks off the coast, the caption read.

Q checked the location. He checked the time. He smiled.

“There you are,” he sighed, and began the work of piecing together Bond’s trail.

#15

Title: We Don’t Need Fireworks Author: MrKsan / starrboned Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence Summary: Bond makes things explode. Q watches from afar.

The skies were ablaze with stardust and fire. It could’ve been beautiful, Q thought, had it not been his job to clean up the mess after.

Damn Bond and his dramatics.

Footsteps approached from behind, and Q couldn’t help but smile as an arm looped around his waist.

“007,” Gareth sighed. Q snorted, leaning into the warmth. Something exploded in the distance.

“Wish you could join him?” Gareth asked. “Share the action?”

Q turned his head, watching the fireworks reflect in his eyes.

“I got all the fire I need right here,” Q smiled, and leaned in for a kiss.

Go vote!

#LDWS #LDWS2021 #ldws drabble #james bond fanfiction #drabbles #signal boost

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watermelonlipstick · 4 years

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Dreams, Chapter 5

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

GET. READY. This is a bigger chunk but I really think it’s worth it.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 5

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 5343

Summary: Dean’s birthday proves easier than expected in some ways and harder in others.

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, alcohol, s l o w b u r n

Sam pulled back from you, opening one eye drowsily. “Are you okay?” he says, voice gritty with sleep.

“Yeah, I…he didn’t die,” you breathed, confused.

He cleared his throat. “What?”

“He always dies. He fell off of Bobby’s roof, but he just broke his ankle, he, he didn’t die.”

Sam rubbed his face with his free arm, trying to wake up more in earnest. It was still dark, so it couldn’t have been later than 7:30. You hadn’t been asleep for more than a few hours but suddenly felt beyond alert. “That’s good, right?”

“I—yeah, it’s good. Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The reflex was to say no, usher Sam back to sleep. But your reflexes had already been wrong once today. “Can we?”

The way Sam kept the surprise off his face was admirable. It was the first time you’d agreed to talk about the nightmares that plagued you since losing Dean. He propped himself up on his elbows and flicked on the small lamp beside the bed. “What happened?”

You told Sam all about the dream, sparing only the details you couldn’t really remember or only made dream-sense, like the way you knew it was 4th of July weekend without having been told. He listened thoughtfully, the focus obvious in his expression. He waited a long beat when you were done, sure not to step on your moment of vulnerability.

“What do you think it means?” he asked gently.

You thunked back onto your pillow to gaze up at the popcorn ceiling. “I don’t care, to be honest.” The almost-dark made fuzzy static pulse in your vision. “I think I’m going to write about it, actually,” you said, and startled yourself.

“Oh, uh, okay,” Sam said encouragingly. “Do you want me to—” he asked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

“No, no. I’ll be back in a little bit, see if you can go back to sleep.”

Sam nodded with more than a little concern and you climbed over him, yanking an old sweatshirt out to throw over your wilted tee and scampering off to the kitchen table.

The house was ice cold and dark aside from the ever-present Christmas lights and you could feel the needles that had begun to drop from the tree under your bare feet, rapidly cooling on the cheap flooring. You picked up the notebook and pens Sam had gotten you and sat down at the kitchen counter to write.

In the days that followed, the constant and varied nightmares of Dean’s deaths returned. When you woke up, more and more often making it to the morning, you kept writing to Dean about them and sometimes your day as a way of processing. You never ‘told him’ about exactly what happened and tried to focus on the sweet things you remembered that made the worst dreams a tease, moving them to your daytime memory and trying to wash away the despair the nightmares left you clawing through.

By the middle of January, you and Sam had fallen mostly back into old patterns. The Christmas lights were still up, a sort of night light against the long Midwestern nights, and you couldn’t help feeling a small sense of despair sweeping up loose pine needles when Sam was in the shower every day. You didn’t want the winter to end, as weird as that sounded with the ice and chill and fingertips that never warmed all the way. It felt like if you moved into spring that you were leaving the time-out that you’d created and would have to figure out a longer-term solution than this rented cabin, all thin drywall and poorly insulated ceilings. Even your jobs didn’t feel permanent, the summer vacationers sure to come back and reclaim their spots in the town as it came back to life with the plants.

The ‘mostly’ was that the boundary you broke with Sam never truly came uncrossed. When you were washing dishes he would come stand behind you, the heat of his lips seeping into the shoulder of your old sweatshirts. You’d intertwine your fingers with his while he drove, realizing only when you went to open the car door and found yourself tangled, or running your hands through his hair while he read next to you on the sofa. You never met Sam’s eyes in these moments—somehow it felt like a secret, private thing that would collapse into dust if gazed upon, some sweet, small creature you were protecting. Neither one of you talked about it in the time since that tequila-soaked night.

As much as you’d needed to be close to him before, you began craving Sam in a way that scared you. You’d always found him beautiful in the way you admire someone you love, but you caught yourself taking notice of the pillars of muscles along his back when he broke down stock boxes and the dark swoop of his eyelashes. The comments about how lucky you were to have him that used to make you nervous your cover was about to be blown started to make you ache a little with fear and something you couldn’t place. You felt a bizarre flick of jealousy when some twenty somethings drinking White Claw dragged their eyes over him at the bar before leaving on their snowmobiles, like he really was yours to claim. It seemed like a manifestation of your fierce attachment and unresolved grief not only for Dean but your old life with the Winchesters, when they sort of were: your teammates and no one else’s. You resolved it had to be and explained it away without inspection, even when these ‘isolated’ moments became less and less isolated.

Before you knew it, you were hurtling toward Dean’s birthday.

“What should we do on Sunday?” you asked early on a Thursday afternoon, trying to keep your voice light and easy while you and Sam got ready for your last day of work for the week.

“I don’t, uh, I don’t know.”

“Did you guys ever do anything when you were little?”

“I mean, not really. Sometimes like a cake or whatever I guess, but Dean was always better at that stuff. By the time we were in our 20s, he only wanted to go meet girls and play up the ‘kiss for the birthday boy’ schtick.” Sam grinned sheepishly as though you didn’t know who Dean had been.

You couldn’t help but smile, remembering the cocksure half-boy you’d met all those years ago. “Okay, well, if you didn’t have anything in mind, I have a couple ideas.”

“Oh, yeah, I had only really come up with a cherry pie and a bottle of whiskey.”

You stood up from the kitchen table and grabbed Sam’s empty plate, leaning into his drying hair for long enough to inhale the minty earthiness of his shampoo. “I mean, that’s a given.”

In Sunday’s late morning you slipped out of the house while Sam was in the shower, leaving a note behind that said you’d be back in a few minutes. You careened down the road to the quaint main street, running through the list in your head. The grocery store was first for the only bottle of scotch they kept in a tiny plastic container and the fixings for bacon cheeseburgers, then the coffee shop had a cherry pie that looked better to you than whatever pseudo-Entemann’s they had in the limited grocery bakery section. The hardware store had everything else you needed and some extras; you praised the cold climate necessity of having multiple places in town to get gloves and thick woolen socks as you threw a couple on the checkout with the rest of the haul. It was awkward to get everything in the trunk, and you were thankful in this moment that you weren’t trying to drive the little sedan you’d had years ago when it was just you, even as annoying as it was to park the Impala sometimes.

Back at the cabin Sam was solemnly cleaning up, his eyes red as he wrung out a mop. You took the pie and whiskey out of the bag and put the other groceries away without removing your coat. In truth you only took off the boots you were wearing as a concession to Sam’s mopping, feeling itchy to get back outside and let the complexity of your emotions explode into fresh air unencumbered.

You tossed a pair of new woolen socks to Sam, who caught them against his chest. “You’re going to want these.”

“What? Where are we going?”

“Somewhere I think Dean would’ve liked. Put on some layers, too.”

Sam obeyed with a crooked eyebrow, coming out of the bedroom a few minutes later looking like a lumberjack catalogue model. You didn’t say anything when you realized the hoodie he was wearing used to be his brother’s.

“Ready?”

“I’m not sure, I don’t know where we’re going,” Sam answered honestly.

You gestured toward the door and he followed you out to the car. Thankfully it had snowed that morning, and tiny billows of powdery snowflakes blew up around each car that you passed on the way.

The hill was massive. It was a little surprising considering the flatness of the majority of the Midwest, and you’d had to remind yourself that there were some small skiing outfits in the upper half of the state when you’d found it, sure that it was a garbage dump that had been covered lazily in grass seed and left to its own devices. Less impressive surrounding slopes reassured you when you’d scoped it out a few days earlier, and the fresh glittering snow made it look even more spectacular now than you’d remembered. You decided not to push it taking the Impala onto the snow, instead parking at the dead-end you thought was closest.

“We’re here?” Sam asked, obviously still confused.

“Yep. Come on,” you said, enjoying the surprise more than you’d thought you would.

Popping the trunk made it obvious when the bright plastic sleds were wedged in alongside the miscellaneous weapons whose permanent home it was. You watched Sam’s face as recognition dawned, closely followed by a smirk you knew was in large part to humor you. Yanking them out in one big pull, you handed Sam the green one and one of the pair of gloves you’d gotten that morning.

“These are huge, where did you even find them?” he chuckled, popping the plastic tie between the gloves and sliding his hands into them.

“You’re huge, it’s not like I can put you on a kid’s one. Besides they must be pretty serious about their sledding up here, these were just from the hardware store.”

Sam shook his head and waited for you to put your gloves on. They were comically big on you, but you knew you’d regret not wearing any and tried your best to grip the sides of the plastic sled through them as you took off toward the hill. After a few steps, Sam took the sled from you without a word, able to hold it easily with both his well-fitting gloves and the many extra inches between his arms and the ground.

The walk up the hill was somewhat of a trudge but the way the crisp air sliced through your lungs was a welcome distraction. Snow dampened the ambient noise so all you could hear was Sam’s rhythmic breathing like a mantra, and with one foot in front of the other, by the time you got to the top you felt like you’d been meditating. The view was amazing from the top, a painting or old illustration with its tiny homes and cottages over meandering fields, the snow washing everything out as if you were watching someone else’s dream.

“Should we race?” Sam asked, the swirled pigment of his irises lit up by the reflection off the snow.

The next thing you heard was Sam’s laugh behind you as you took a few big strides and jumped onto the sled. Careening down the hill, your hair snapped around, tiny whips cracking into your wind-tenderized cheeks as you tried in vain to steer the sled in slices across the straight pass. Sam’s cackle was distant but comforting over your shoulder. You closed your eyes to feel the speed underneath you and the wind across your face; listen to that laugh that you’d heard so little recently, an old favorite song to be put on repeat. On January 24th of all days it felt like you were being baptized in the clear crystal sound of it.

When you came to a stop, Sam was only a half second behind you. You fell over in a fit of giggles listening to him play-whine about cheating and “Totally not fair, after I carry your sled all the way up for you!”

“I’ll beat you again with no head start! Unless you’re chicken,” you taunted, brushing snow off your legs to start back up the hill again. Sam scrambled to his feet, passing you up quickly with his huge strides as you started to run after him. Gasping with laughter and exertion, you and Sam half-wrestled and chased each other to the top, collapsing to your backs like snow angels. After catching your breath, you propped yourself up on your elbows to look over at him.

“Rematch?”

Sam’s smile, all straight pearl teeth and cold-flushed cheeks, was as breathtaking as the icy wind as you tore down the run, this time on your stomach with your head low like a bullet, trying in earnest to win again. The front lip of the sled in your fingertips rumbled against little imperfections in the snow. You glanced to check how much of a lead you had on Sam and had barely turned your head before you realized you were also dipping your shoulder, tilting the sled on its greased-lightning path and therefore you with it. Sam was right on your tail and narrowly missed crushing you when you fell off the sled by bailing out of his, your legs tangling together with misplaced velocity. You tried to hold still so you wouldn’t catch his face with a flailing limb, only moving after a beat when it seemed like the collision was over. Sam’s fall seemed to have been more graceful than yours, as he still had a hand on his sled and only a left arm and hair full of snow that he shook loose like a puppy.

“Are you okay?” he said, getting to his knees to reach out to you.

You could feel the scrape on your cheek before you got up, but Sam’s wince was only minor when he saw it which was reassuring. He snatched off his glove and brushed snow off your face gently, barely grazing the broken skin. The warmth felt so nice and you would’ve curled up in his palm like Thumbelina if you could. “What’s the damage?” you asked, trying to think about the way your breath puffed up in clouds around you rather than the snowflakes caught in Sam’s eyelashes.

He was analytical as he took it in, tilting your head carefully in the light. “Doesn’t look too bad. Does it hurt?”

“Nah. Did you think I’d get soft that fast? I used to get stabbed like once a month.”

Sam chuckled. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Do you want to go home?”

It didn’t feel as odd as it should’ve, knowing exactly what home meant in this context. “And let you think I only won by cheating? Fat chance!”

“You don’t even have a sled anymore!”

You glanced around you and saw your sled sitting smugly an easy 30 yards past the base of the hill. “Gimme a ride?”

It was a little awkward until Sam sat down on the sled with each heel straddled and digging into the snow, allowing you to crawl between his legs without unintentionally sliding down the rest of the slope. He seemed unsure of himself as he wrapped his arms around your torso, and you hooked your hands around each of his legs to do your part to hang onto him. “Ready?” he asked, his breath warm on your neck.

When you nodded, he unstuck his heels and you shot like a racehorse down the hill. Sam’s chest was solid as a rock behind you, cushioned with his layers and fastened with his seatbelt arms. You could feel the muscles in his legs moving against your hands, trying to balance the weight of the two of you on the flimsy material. Despite your fall only moments ago, it was safe in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. The ride came to a stop only a few steps away from your cast off sled.

You turned into Sam to get to your knees before standing up and slipped on a wet patch on the plastic, the melted snow turning the surface impossibly slick. It made you fall forward into Sam, his seated position not giving him enough stability to stay on balance—the sled shifted back underneath the both of you and brushed your lips across his as you ended up with your scraped cheek against the rough canvas of his jacket.

“I—oh my god I’m sorry,” you stammered, springing back gracelessly.

Sam looked somewhat like a little kid or a doll, sitting wide eyed with his legs still spread out around you. You stayed back on your knees feeling like you should move slowly, that maybe you could back away unscathed yet. Sam reached his hands out and you thought it was okay, he understood you wouldn’t cross yet another line with him, that it was a simple mistake and he was going to move past it or ask for your help up, and then his heavily gloved hand slid into your hair and he was leaning toward you, the breath that had felt so comforting on the back of your neck as you flew down the hill now on your bottom lip. Your needle-sharp inhale drew that air from him, and you started to feel dizzy. He waited for a moment, searching between your eyes for you to pull back, to turn it into a joke, but you couldn’t. Something in the light pressure of his hand was an anchor and you found yourself glancing at Sam’s lips and slowly, agonizingly, Sam closed the distance between you.

His lips were so soft and gentle that it made you feel like you were going to cry and then you were crying, just one hot salty tear that stung the fresh abrasion on your cheek as you moved against him, this foreign and scary part of the person you knew the best on this earth. Somehow kissing Sam was exactly how you would’ve guessed it would be—tender and sweet and reverent. The sound dampening of the snow amplified your other senses: the feeling of the cheap Gore-Tex catching one or two hairs as Sam supported your weight, the small brush of Sam’s breath through his nose, the tight flick of the wind against your coats. It was over as quickly as it started, leaving you and Sam staring at each other bewildered while your hair tangled around you.

You could feel that your eyes were as wide as Sam’s. Completely unable to formulate a thought or feeling, much less something to say, you silently extricated yourself from the sled. Sam did too, staring at it like it was some complicated spell, even turning away from you as you crossed over to your own store-bought chariot. You could read his tension even in his back, the tight stretch of his shoulders as he clutched at the scruff of his neck, and just wanted to make it better.

“Okay, rematch for real this time? I would say I won’t fall again but, no promises.”

Sam looked scared when he turned back to you, his voice gruff when he choked out a halfhearted, “yeah, sure” and followed you up the hill. He was far enough behind you that you couldn’t hear his breathing anymore and it took him a little bit to reach you at the peak. His body seemed like it was cracking around him, aging in moments as he shakily got into his sled beside yours. You wanted so badly to tell him it’s okay, it’s just some dumb mistake, we were just goofing off but you knew it wasn’t true and you didn’t want to lie.

The only thing you could fix your mouth to say was, “Count us down so you can’t say I’m cheating again,” and hope he heard the apology and forgiveness in it.

Sam obeyed dutifully and you kicked off down the hill, trying to use the speed you gathered and the clarity in the way it split open your lungs to try to understand what had just happened. The same trip that had felt like glorious ages before was over in a second and you were up out of your sled before you remembered you were supposed to be measuring whether you or Sam had gotten down faster.

“Tie, we’re going again!” you yelled over your shoulder as you did your best to bound through the deep snow up the side of the hill, not waiting to see if he was following you.

Once again at the top, ragged and out of breath and only a few steps ahead of him, you took a second to collect yourself before putting your sled back in the snow and holding it in place with one foot.

“I’m sor—” Sam started before you cut him off.

“Okay, third time’s the charm!” you said with panicked cheerfulness that you knew instantly was too much, but Sam stopped talking and dejectedly sat on his sled next to you.

You and Sam spent probably an hour more sledding, your legs turning to jello underneath you as you ran up the hill over and over again and your cheeks getting more and more wind chapped, before Sam finally smiled, exasperated at some joke about still beating him up the hill with legs that were half as long. It was all the fuel you needed to keep chipping away at him until the sun started dropping and the chill broke through all your layers.

The two of you plodded through the snow back to the car together. Gloves and sleds in the trunk, you flopped into the passenger seat with that sudden too-hot feeling of getting out of the wind and tore at your coat to desperately strip some layers. Sam threw his own jacket in the back. Without giving him a chance to protest or hook up his phone, you turned on the tape deck and Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here pounded out like rocky silk.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you murmured. You looked over at Sam, who burst into a kind of frantic laughter that you completely understood. You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing either, because of course this was playing during the tense peace on Dean’s birthday in Dean’s car, and then you and Sam were cry-laughing in the rapidly humidifying air of the Impala while Syd Barrett waxed poetic. By the time the second chunks of Shine On You Crazy Diamond started, you were gasping for air and clutching at your sides.

You drove home after that in relative silence, the fatigue of fresh air and running all afternoon catching up with you. Sam took a shower while you put together burgers, switching spots with you to cook them while you washed up. They were pretty good due in large part to how seriously Wisconsinites take their cheese, bacon, and beef, and you wolfed yours long before your hair had stopped dripping onto the collar of the threadbare sweatshirt you’d changed into.

The first shot of scotch burned like it always did, offsetting the sweet tang of the cherry pie and reminding you of the way Dean used to taste when you kissed him at the end of a long night. You looked out the window at the last purple glow of the sunset as it turned the evening into deep, endless inky blue.

“I’ve gotta—I’m so sorry,” Sam spat out like the words were beating their way out of his mouth.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” you murmured, unable to immediately meet his gaze and looking down at your pie.

“I just—I can’t—I don’t know what the fuck is going on,” he stammered.

You couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of the whole thing. “Join the club.”

Sam smirked but it was mirthless. “No, I know, but it’s just…I don’t know. I’m sorry.” He stabbed a deflated cherry with pursed lips, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. The fork clattered to his plate. “It’s not getting any easier. Every day I wake up and I’m so mad. It’s so fucking unfair that I have to stay here without him because I know that’s what he fucking wanted, and I feel like there’s no point in trying to have anything like good or normal because I’m just running out the clock. And then today’s Dean’s fucking birthday and I kiss his girlfriend—what is wrong with me?”

The outburst hung in the air, a toxic smoke that excluded everything else. You slammed the rest of your glass of scotch, relishing the way it scalded. “So I’m just Dean’s girlfriend?”

“No, that’s not what I—I mean I guess—it’s not like you aren’t—I don’t know, it just seems like you’ll always be his girlfriend.”

“Are you still Jess’s boyfriend?”

It was the absolute most cruel and wrong thing to say and you regretted the words as soon as they left your tongue and crashed into Sam, not even really knowing why you’d thought them. They distorted his face in incredulity and betrayal but you didn’t back down, maintaining eye contact until he snatched the bottle and refilled both glasses. When he spoke again his voice was gravelly and broken.

“I guess I deserved that.”

“Sam, this is fucking weird. It always has been, us being alive without Dean, and if you’re just now getting that then you’re not as smart as I thought you were. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s going on either, but I know that you’re the only thing that’s keeping me from ending up with a bullet in my skull or in a locked ward, so if you’re waiting for me to forgive you for something, for anything you’ve ever said or done, it’s already forgiven. But we’re too tied up together for every tiny redrawing of the boundaries to send us over the edge. Please.”

“Tiny redrawing of boundaries? I kissed you!”

“And I kissed you back, Sam! What do you want to do about it? What’s the absolution here? If you want to leave, I’m not going to stop you. Take the Impala and I’ll find some other car, I’ll borrow the Kaisers’ other one or something. Or maybe you want me to go and I’ll go; I’ll do anything you want me to. I’ll leave right now, you never have to see me again if that’s what you want but I know Dean loved you and loved me and I don’t think he would’ve wanted you to torture yourself all the time so what is it that you want?”

“I want us to be fucking normal and I don’t want to feel like I’m cheating with my brother’s girlfriend! I don’t want to have a cover story and I don’t want to keep running away!”

“Then fucking stop! Stop feeling guilty and talk to me about this stuff!”

Sam laughed, hard and bitter and choked off.

“I’m serious. We can’t keep doing this shit, at least I can’t. We need to start talking—about Dean, about everything. It’s like this lump of decay and we’re just spraying Febreze and not dealing with it.”

Sam’s mouth popped open as he tongued his molars. He bit his lip in frustration before crumpling up his napkin and threw it on top of his half-eaten pie. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

You weren’t expecting that. For all the ways it had seemed like Dean had been the more emotionally closed off, he was always much easier for you to read than Sam, who managed somehow to talk about things without actually communicating how he felt. It was good if you needed to be supported but made it extremely hard to be there for him. Refilling your glasses a bit more conservatively, you offered up an open palm to let Sam go first. His jaw tensed and he swallowed hard.

“No bullshit?” he asked.

“No bullshit. What’s the point of bullshitting anymore? After everything?”

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 6

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atrophiedcompassion · 2 years

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my british vacay was ... something. i wanna say it was 4/5 stars but it definitely feels like something was missing. i went in just tired. i came out monumentally so.

it started off in London, the Tool gig was spectacular, one thing that went perfectly. the next day, the museum i wanted to see was closed (typically closed on tues) so ehhh.

the ride to Edinburgh was amazing. another perfect thing. my first day in the city went pretty smooth, with good weather and finding the places i wanted to visit easily. had some nice dinner and a whisky sample too.

then... off on the tour. Highlands, Isle of Skye and Loch Ness.

this is where it all kinda went weird. it wasn't bad, and the guide & group made for a good trip / ambiance. but the weather really crapped on all the sights. we're at the vantage point and we see 30m ahead due to the mist. everything is grey. it's raining. the wind? it's fcking blowing us off the cliff almost (literally picked up a largish rock to anchor myself). it's cold as hell too. can't really enjoy tbh.

i guess the whole point of the trip is to see the beautiful and dramatic landscape. but that's the one thing that isn't available. it was kinda frustrating. not to mention that the rest of the island(s) is(are) having some marvelous sun. ugh

but some things made up for that, like i said, the guide was excellent and some of the folk too. made friends, went out to a local festival in Portree (Isle of Skye), to dinner, to nightcaps. had some really awesome whisky and some excellent seafood.

on the return to Edinburgh, i realised the tour i was doing next was basically a copy of the last Skye tour day + a distillery, so i cancelled (too late, didn't get a refund). but now i had another day in Edinburgh at least, so i managed to get myself to the Modern art museum and enjoyed some Max Ernsts and Dorothea Tannings <3

some of the magic came back also on the wings of Traditional Sunday Roast meal, with a soup (curried plantains? didn't quite catch what it was, but it was deffo too sweet for my taste), the aforementioned Sunday roast (potroast beef slices, roast potatoes, parsnip, carrots, gravy, yorkshire pudding!!) and then the MOST SUBLIME DESERT, sticky toffee oMG, served hot & with a sauce!! gosh, the brits do have some weird food choices, but this entire meal was amazing (ok, minus the soup)

last day in Edinburgh was. RAINY as hell. visited the castle in the rain, and only the very funny guide made it up for it a bit. after a fish & chips late lunch, it was off back to London by train.

well. this is where it all went balls. first of all, i had assumed they'd have a bar-car on the train, and that i could have a hot sandwich (like the ride to Edinburgh did). they just had chips and shit. no dinner for me. then. the train was full of Rangers fans on their way to the Sevilla final. football fans in large nos in closed quarters??? HELL.

then, the train was stopped for over 2hrs due to an incident on the line. i ended up arriving dead tired at 3ish, with no place to shop for water/food.

BUT. once again the balance was restored when, with straining powers, i decided to visit Tate Modern on my last full day in London (easy to get to, usually free) and there was a surprise waiting for me: a Surrealist exhibition. i saw THREE Remedios Varo paintings!!! i cried i am crying now when i think about it. i saw TWO Leonora Carringtons!! i circled back in those two rooms, twice. it really was incredibly awesome. most of their work is in private collections so this was a real treat.

overall, i felt a lot of FOMO given the bad weather in Scotland, but somehow now when i think about it, it all evened out and i scored some unexpected delights.

#vacation #a concert; some highlands; lots of modern art; and too much rain #scotland vacation #isle of skye #tate modern

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nah-she-didnt · 4 years

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A Favor

Hey y’all, here’s fic #5! I’m still hoping to complete a fic or drabble a day for my first week with my new page. This is also my first attempt at Hinny, my OG ship. Thank you to everyone who’s commented or reblogged in the last few days, it means the world!

Harry found himself in the library with Hermione one Sunday night desperately trying to make a dent in his Defense essay. Snape had asked for four whole rolls of parchment on defensive jinxes and their use in combat, but Harry found it difficult to concentrate on his homework at the moment.

His thoughts were still down on the quidditch pitch where he and his team had spent a frustrating practice preparing for their upcoming match against Slytherin. Most of the team had flown well, especially Ginny, who was shaping up to be one of the best chasers Hogwarts had seen in years. However, the rest of the team’s successes had been eclipsed by Ron’s foul temper.

Ron had been increasingly unpleasant ever since he and Harry found Ginny and Dean snogging in that bloody hidden corridor. He’d spent the entire practice tonight shooting glares at Ginny, missing every goal thrown at him, and yelling so ferociously at poor Demelza Robbins that she had nearly burst into tears. Harry had done his best to keep his team’s hopes up as practice ended but he still felt a sense of doom as the match approached. He just couldn’t see how Ron’s mood could stage a recovery spectacular enough to put him in any fit state to play on Saturday. He had to think of something that he could do to--

“Harry?”

Harry started out of his thoughts of Ron and quidditch. Catching his ink bottle before it toppled over onto his Defense notes, Harry looked up. Ginny was standing above him looking bemused.

“Sorry, interrupt a deep thought, did I captain?”

“You sound surprised,” grumbled Harry, running a hand through his hair. “What’s up?”

“Well...to tell you the truth, it’s about Ron,” she said cautiously.

Harry groaned inwardly. It was getting harder and harder to defend Ron’s behavior the last few days, particularly to Hermione and Ginny.

“What about him?” he asked innocently. Ginny frowned.

“Oh, not much, except he’s become a complete and utter git.”

Harry glanced sideways at Hermione. She was pretending not to listen to this conversation, but Harry was convinced that he saw a look of agreement on Hermione’s face.

Harry looked back up at Ginny. “Yeah, I suppose he has been. I’m sorry about practice, Gin. He’s, uh, got a lot on his mind.”

Ginny snorted. “Clearly.”

“No, really,” said Harry defensively, “you know how he gets about quidditch. He always turns himself inside out before a match. I’m sure he’ll be back to normal soon.”

“You forget, Harry, that I know my dear brother far better than you do,” Ginny grimaced. “Anyway, that’s not what I’m here to talk about.”

Harry couldn’t help but feel a flutter of excitement in his stomach. Ginny had sought him, Harry, out for a chat. He liked the feeling of knowing that Ginny had been thinking about him.

“I was wondering if I could have a favor. Could you use your captain powers for good this week and find some reasons to keep Ron after practice? He’s started this infuriating habit of dogging Dean when he leaves the pitch, like he’s going to jump my bones as soon as we’re alone together. But you see, it actually is keeping us from having any time together at all without Ronniekins present.”

Harry’s stomach sank. Of course she wanted help to see her boyfriend. Her boyfriend, Dean, not Harry. He had to remember that.

Harry rubbed his forehead. “I dunno Ginny, he hasn’t been to keen to talk these days. What am I supposed to say to keep him back?”

“Tell him you want to talk strategy or something. God knows he needs it.” Ginny clasped her fingers together as if begging. “Please, Harry, I haven’t been able to eat a meal alone with my boyfriend in more than a week. It’s driving me mad.”

Harry looked up at Ginny’s glowing face. No, her normal, not-glowing, not-luminescent face. The face of his best friend’s little sister. He sighed.

“Sure, Gin. Whatever you need.”

“Harry, you’re an absolute star,” said Ginny as she clapped him on the shoulder. “I owe you one.”

“Not at all” said Harry dully. He would have to remember to find a reason to set Dean extra laps at the end of next practice. No, that would be childish. Or would it...

Ginny beamed at Hermione, said one last ‘thank you’ to Harry, then disappeared back into the stacks of library books.

Harry sat dumbfounded for a moment. He had just agreed to help Ginny, a girl he most certainly did not fancy and did not think had the most beautiful fiery red hair of anyone he’d ever seen, spend even more time with her boyfriend. He tried not to think about what other corridors Ginny and Dean could explore together while he kept a moody Ron occupied on the pitch.

Hermione gave a small cough next to him. Harry looked at her, annoyed. “Something to say?”

“Oh, no,” Hermione said lightly, “things must be going well between her and Dean for her to ask for your help, of all people.”

Harry gaped at her. “What’s that supposed to mean? What do you mean, ‘me of all people?’ Why wouldn’t she ask me for help?”

Hermione finally tore her eyes away from her own essay to look up innocently at Harry. “I only meant that you’re her brother’s best mate. She must have known that she could trust you not to tell Ron she’d asked.”

Harry blinked. “Oh, uh, right... She must have known I’d help.”

Hermione looked at him curiously for a moment. “What did you think I meant?”

“Nothing. Look, I’ve got to go, Hermione. I’m not getting this stupid essay done tonight.” And with that, Harry packed his bag and got up to leave the table.

As he left the library, Harry was sure that he heard Hermione whisper to herself in an exasperated tone, “Boys.”

#hinny #hinny fic #one shot #canon compliant #harry james potter #ginny weasley #nina writes #hp fanfic #harry potter/ginny weasley #harry is simp nation

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cowperviolet · 4 years

Text

A GUIDE TO MEDIEVAL TOURNAMENTS

Do you have a dynastic wedding to celebrate? A diplomatic visit to spice up? An axe to grind with a neighbour whose pageantry is eclipsing yours? Organize a tournament. It’s always the answer. A tournament of the greatest knights of the realm cannot go wrong.

Of course, it’s also a great and complex undertaking; but, thankfully, this step-by-step handbook should guide you through the process with only minimal pain and no injury

Obtain permission.

In England in France at least, organizing tourneys had become mostly a royal and ducal prerogative after 1340 – if you are not lucky enough to belong to one of those miniscule categories of the population, you would have to seek a special license. Obtaining it shouldn’t be a problem… unless, of course, there is a war on. In that case, you’d better check the latest royal proclamations – it’s more than possible that one of them contains a temporary ban on all tournaments while men of fighting age might have to risk their lives and limbs against an actual enemy. If this is true, it would be prudent of you to postpone your plans for a few months (or years, depending on how the war is going) – you wouldn’t want to content yourself with the kind of furtive affair that was the Le Hem tournament of 1278. It was hastily staged in direct violation of Louis IX ’s prohibition of tournaments because of the ongoing war, and as a result had to even dispense with the mêlée on the third day.

(If you think the prohibition overbearing and unfair, plenty of people would agree with you – and not just the kind of people who can afford swords and horses. The poet Sarrasin criticized the king in his Le Roman du Hem for bankrupting the heralds, armourers, saddlers and provisioners of France with his tournament ban).

2. Consider the time and place.

Most tourneys run from Monday to Sunday, with Friday being the rest day. You would need a spacious marketplace to divide into lists, too.

A lot depends on what kind of tournament you want to host. A general mêlée whose absence so disappointed the spectators in Le Hem would need more space than a contained joust; on the other hand, mêlée combat has been steadily losing its popularity as of late in favour of one-on-one jousts.

Of course, some people grumble that the old days when horsemen smashing into enemy in massed formations were the fixture of any tournament where the days when men were still men. But we are modern, fifteenth-century people, and we understand the importance of ensuring safety both for the participants and the spectators – hence the barriers down the centre of each list to prevent the knights from actually colliding with each other, and fenced enclosures to keep the audience strictly away from the danger. Which brings us to…

3. Decide on the rules.

The traditional rules of joust are the following: the knights are divided into two teams, those ‘within’ and those ‘without’ – or, in other words, the ‘defenders’ and the ‘attackers’. The space is, in turn, divided into three lists, each separated from the other by high barriers. The courses – the charges by two opposing knights – are going to be run down each, towards the spectacular splintering of lances. Each day, a prize, usually in the form of a small jewel or a golden chain, should be given to the best-performing knight and squire from each team.

You can, however, add or tweak a few details in order to make the sport safer for the participants – or more exhilarating for the audience. For example, you could take a page out of Maximillian I’s book and provide the knights with special spring-loaded shields that would flow apart if struck in the right place. You could also follow King Edward of England’s example and model your tournament after the béhourd he sponsored in Windsor in 1278: he specified, among other things, that the participants would have to wear cuir bouilli – a type of leather boiled until it was almost as hard as metal – and use wooden shields and whalebone swords.

If you scoff at the lightweight kind of tourneys popular these days, and especially if you care little for pageantry, then a different kind of joust might be more up your alley. The so-called passage of arms, or pas d’armes, is an undertaking to defend a certain place (usually a bridge or a gate) from all comers. It was inspired by various episodes from Arthurian romances, such as the Romance of Yvain by Chrétien de Troyes. In fiction, the knights undertook the defend a bridge, a gate, or a ford in single combat, and, if they were defeated, the winner took their place. Naturally, a real passage of arms plays out somewhat differently – for one thing, the defense only lasts a specified period of time (rarely longer than two weeks), and one defeat in a particular joust does not mean surrender. The most famous example of any knights attempting this kind of endeavor is probably the pas d’armes that Suero de Quinones organized at the Orbigo Bridge in northern Spain for two weeks until the St. James’ Day of 1434. They claimed a plan of breaking 300 lances in total – if they failed, the organizers promised, they would remain there for a further fortnight. They fulfilled that promise, and ended up withdrawing only on the 9th of August – but even with that extra time, they’ve only managed to break 178 lances in total. It’s no mean result, of course – plenty of minor conventional tourneys end in mighty disappointment for the spectators with not a single lance ending up broken at all.

It must be said that, although a passage of arms is a grandiose undertaking, jousting proper usually only takes a couple of hours a day there – in other words, the spectators are likely to be disappointed anyway. Your fellow knights, however, are going to be delighted by the concept – if, of course, they are true connoisseurs of tourneys just like you.

4. Think of the logistics.

The matter might begin with the rules of fighting itself, but it doesn’t end there. If you are in a position to organize a tournament out of your own purse in the first place, you must be the master of the lands where it’s going to be held, so make sure your subjects don’t suffer as a result of the soaring prices that usually accompany such events, not to mention the influx of professional warriors. Fix the prices firmly for the duration of the tournament, especially the prices on bread, fish, and meat; stipulate that no spectators or unarmed persons are to mix with the participants; make sure each gate of the city is manned by about twelve armed men, and station at least five hundred guards around the setting of the tournament itself.

5. Send out invitations.

Sending letters of invite seems to be the most logical course – however, it is also the most excruciating one, given the number of noblemen of fighting age who would be eligible for participation. In your situation, it would be better to contact the organizer of the tourney closest to yours and ask him to have your upcoming event announced there.

You would also do well to contact the tournament societies in your region – if you live in Germany, it’s going to be particularly easy: the whole concept, after all, originated in Bavaria. Tournament societies are essentially permanent tournament teams from different regions. Instead of laboriously summoning individual knights, one could simply issue a challenge from one society to another. Moreover, some societies’ rules even specify that the members have to meet annually at a tournament -it might as well be yours!

6. Think of the theme.

Of course, you don’t have to have a theme – you might want your tournament to simply be a bit of rough, honest fun it used to be in William Marshall’s days. We don’t live in William Marshall’s days anymore, though, and I suspect you wouldn’t want to be outdone by your neighbours.

The most go-to theme are Arthurian legends. It’s the kind of oldie-but-goldie you cannot go wrong with. The fashion was arguably started by Edward I of England, who set out a round table and acted out a number of Arthurian romances with the other noblemen at the feast after the tournament in honour of his daughter’s wedding. That was a far cry from the spectacular Arthurian festival arranged across the Channel by the lords Longueval and Bazentin in Picardy: they had the tournament presided over by ‘Queen Guinevere’, and stipulated that all the attendant knights had to bring a damsel with them. Another member of the theatricals was named as Chevalier au Lyon, who supposedly ‘rescued’ the ladies in ‘Guinevere’s retinue, and even had a real lion with him.

If this is all a bit too out there for you (or, the other way around, too pedestrian – everyone does the Round Table these days!), you could organize the pageantry of the tournament around your heroic ancestor or your sigil – possibly both. For example, the joust that Adolf of Cleves staged in Lille had been inspired by the story of the Cleves’ progenitor, a knight who was miraculously led along the Rhine by a swan and ended up marrying the local princess. During the joust, the ‘Knight of the Swan’ was to take on all challengers.

The procession, to quote the words of a contemporary, included

‘…drummers; and after them a pursuivant of arms dressed in a coat of arms full of swans; after him came a large swan, marvellously and skilfully made, with a crown of gold around its neck, from which hung a shield of the full arms of Cleves; and from this crown hung a golden chain on which, from one end, there hung the shield of the knight; and this swan was flanked by two very well made centaurs who had bows and arrows in their hands, and made as though to shoot at anyone who tried to approach the swan’.

7. Plan the banquet.

Nothing can sour the impression of a great tourney as a meagre banquet afterwards. The need for a generous display of food is self-explanatory – roebucks, suckling pigs, silvered eels, gilded bread, almond soup, kid goats, and the like – however, this is sadly not enough. You also have to think about the entremets.

What are the entremets? To put it simply, everything that is a part of the banquet, but is not edible. I’m not simply talking about straightforward entertainments like music, theatre pieces, or juggling. Entremets can also be elaborate installations for your guests to admire, such as a mini-carrack, exquisitely executed up to the last rope and laden with goods, or a mechanical forest full of strange, if thankfully unmoving, beasts. Even vessels sometimes count – you could have the sweets be contained in little chariots decorated with gold and azure. If you prefer to walk on the wild side, take a page out of Taillevent’s book (quite literally – it’s called Viandier) and construct a fake lion equipped to spout flame: ‘make it with a brass-lined mouth and a thin brass tongue, and with paper teeth glued in the mouth; and put camphor and a little cotton in the mouth and, when it is about to be served before the lords, set fire to this’.

Just don’t do what they did for the Feast of the Pheasant when they’ve made a statue of a naked woman in a large hat who spouted sweetened wine from her breasts for the duration of the dinner. Please.

Sources:

Normore, Christina. A Feast for the Eyes.

Andrew Brown and Graeme Small, Court and Civic Society in the Burgundian Low Countries c. 1420–1530.

Kelcey Wilson-Lee, Daughters of Chivalry: The Forgotten Children of Edward I.

#medieval history #medieval #Middle Ages #history #history geek #writing reference #writing resources #writing ref

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jokertrap-ran · 3 years

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(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 3-3: 海水与火焰 Seawater & Flames Translation

“Secretly snapping shots of me again? What, was last time not enough?"

*Light and Night Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *Main story tag will be #For Light and Night

The original plan for Lin Yao’s fitting session was postponed by her agency at the very last minute. After busying for a couple more days, the weekends were here in a blink of an eye.

Following Evan’s suggestion, I’d selected a new apartment that was small, but pretty good in every other aspect, and moved in without a hitch.

It was coincidentally sundown by the time I’d finished decorating my new home. The setting sun was lazily snuggled up high amongst the clouds that touched the building. Guangqi City was dyed in a beautiful pinkish-purple, assimilating into the very glow of the sunset itself.

I was nestled up comfortably on my sofa, admiring the beautiful scenery and enjoying the rare moment of peace.

Ding-dong!

The doorbell rang.

Delivery Man: Hello. Fresh flowers for you.

MC: ?

An’an had sent me a huge bouquet of baby's breath. It had a card attached to it, wishing me a smooth move into my new apartment.

❖☆———————————★❖

An'an: Got the flowers yet?

MC: Yeah! They're especially pretty~

An'an: You're welcome! But, seeing as you've already received them… I have a teeny-tiny request~

MC: Why do I have a bad feeling about this already…?

An'an: Aw, come on, man. Didn't I tell you that I was going to be interviewing my idol's race team next week?

An'an: It’s their test run tomorrow and it’s also a Sunday, so I’m asking you to come and check them out with me!

An'an: Please? Pretty please? Pretty please with a cherry on top? You know I love you best, baby!

MC: ...Fine.

An'an: I’ll send you the location later and see you at their training location at 10 AM tomorrow! Be there, or be square!

❖☆———————————★❖

Hence, I woke up early the next day due to the location being somewhere out in the outskirts of the city.

MC: Turn left at 998 Sunset Street and go straight till the end…

MC: Then you’ll see the Glitter Bullet race team's name… Oh, here it is.

A real race track was much more of a spectacular sight to behold compared to what I’d seen on television.

The long and winding race track was akin to that of a python’s body; so long that it seemed never-ending, surrounding a square plot of grass. The dark red tented fabric canopy bearing the team’s name stood right in the centre of the racetrack like an open umbrella.

❖☆———————————★❖

MC: What a spectacle…

Everything about the racetrack marvelled me, almost as if I’d accidentally stepped into a whole new world.

Training racecars raced past me, roaring as they went. The visceral heat and the deafening roars of the engines as they zipped past were so exciting that they made everyone's heart race.

I walked to the auditorium, finding a shaded area to sit.

Down at the tracks was what was probably a mock competition. The roaring of the racecars that zipped past was sometimes high-pitched, and sometimes low.

❖☆———————————★❖

The one at the head of them all was a red racecar that was both steady and equally speedy. After a couple of laps, it had firmly locked its place as No.1 on the racetrack.

I stared at the skull pattern on it. It looked really familiar…

I whipped out my phone and zoomed in on it using the camera and confirmed it. My eyes weren’t fooling me after all.

MC: The pattern on it looks exactly just like the pendant Osborn wears!

❖☆———————————★❖

Is that his racecar? As the thought flashed past my mind, I was compelled to raise my phone and press the button on the shutter.

Suddenly, a sharp sound rang out in the chaos of noise.

The yellow racecar that had been snapping at the red one’s heels the entire time had suddenly started accelerating, just like a lion that had just woken up, radiating an unstoppable and unrelenting aura as it went. It swerved with astonishing speed and a sharp screech of its tires, perfectly bypassing the bend in the road before swiftly overtaking the red racecar!

It was like a dash of gold light in the middle of a group, making everything in the surroundings lose out in comparison.

In a blink of an eye, that racecar put a huge distance between itself and the others.

MC: The red racecar got overtaken!

Only the last lap remained before this competition was over. I couldn't help gripping tightly to the railings as I silently rooted for the red racecar.

However, it was the yellow racecar that had been first to cross the finish line in the end.

MC: He still lost out…

I sighed, growing increasingly curious about just which godly being was behind the wheel of the yellow racecar.

MC: ...Osborn's so good at this; I wonder who won against him?

A tall and big figure came out of the yellow racecar, removing his helmet and reaching a hand up to somewhat fix his helmet-mussed hair.

MC: ...Osborn!? That red racecar isn't being driven by him!?

❖☆———————————★❖

It was at that moment that my phone vibrated to life.

An'an: I needa tell you something very important… Please don't smack me!

An'an: A last-minute issue cropped up with the latest issue of the magazine I'm on, so I've got to rush back to the publishing company right now...

MC: I'm… already here, though…

An'an: I'm so, so, sorry for making you go there for nothing…

MC: Don't worry about it. I don't have any plans for today anyway. Besides, I just saw their test run.

An'an: For real!? Did you snap any pics of my idol? Can you send them to me!?

MC: Sure thing. I snapped one aplenty…

Suddenly, I recalled the big, horrid, and terrible screw-up that had transpired earlier. My voice had never died that quickly right then and there. Not only did I fail to get a single shot of her idol, but I'd also taken pictures of EVERYTHING but him.

MC: ...Err, I'll snap a couple more and send them all to you later.

An'an: You're really the bestest bestie! Gotta go, the editor-in-chief's after my arse. Bye bye~

After hanging up, I immediately fell into a moment of depression as I stared at the stream of pictures of the red racecar in the gallery. Is there a second mock competition, by any chance? Otherwise, how am I going to explain this to her…?

??: And whose fangirl is this? What are you squatting here for?

MC: !

The sudden voice that came out of nowhere startled me. I shot up immediately only to meet a pair of eyes that had been half-narrowed into a smile.

I didn't know when he came here, but Osborn was now standing by my side. There he stood under the dazzling sunlight with both hands in his pockets, leaning lazily against the railings with his eyebrows raised.

I felt a little light-headed. Perhaps it was because I had my head down for too long and had gotten up way too quickly, but I abruptly stumbled two steps backwards.

He grabbed onto my arm with a small chuckle.

MC: ...Thanks.

Osborn: Secretly snapping shots of me again? What, was last time not enough?

He leaned down, his gaze landing on the camera interface that was still open on my phone, the smile playing at his lips never once falling.

MC: As if! I’m helping my friend take some pictures. She needs to use it for her interviews!

Osborn: Oh? So what did you take?

MC: Uh, well…

MC: I just casually snapped a couple of pictures of things like your racecar and… the red one… and all…

Osborn: Really? Then what do you think of my driving?

MC: Amazing! Never thought that you'd clinch first in the end like that!

MC: You drove fast and furious during the last lap, but you were also very steady at the wheel! And the part where you finally overtook your opponent at the very last moment was also way too brilliant!

Osborn: Then why'd you only take photos of one who came in 2nd?

I froze. That was when it finally hit me that he'd already seen the camera interface that had been on my phone display earlier.

Osborn causally folded his arms, awaiting my answer with a playful look on his face.

I could only look to the side ever so awkwardly, softly muttering in response.

MC: Because they were leading at the start, so I thought…

MC: Plus, the skull pattern that was on it was just like your pendant, so that's why I...

Osborn was stunned for a while before he let out a laugh.

Osborn: That was the pattern for the last season.

Osborn: I never knew that you'd done your research on me that well.

There was an obvious teasing lilt to his voice. I flushed red, immediately snapping in denial.

MC: I only take extra notice when it comes to patterns! I blame my work habits!

MC: Who told you to be so slow at the start…

Utterly amused, Osborn narrowed his eyes into a smile, leaning down towards me.

Osborn: Do you know that you should never say "slow" to a racer?

MC: ……

I subconsciously shook my head. Osborn nodded moments after he'd leaned in closer.

Osborn: Boy, you sure are easy to intimidate.

Moments after he backed away, he casually placed his hands into his pockets, his smile growing bigger.

Osborn: Come on.

MC:

...Where to?

Osborn: Don't you wanna snap some shots? I'll lead the way.

❖☆————— ⊹ For Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 3-1) | Next Part: (Chapter 3-5)

#光与夜之恋 #Light and Night #Otome #Translations #Tencent #萧逸 #Osborn #齐司礼 #Sariel #陆沉 #Evan #查理苏 #Charlie #夏鸣星 #Jesse #For Light and Night

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scope-dogg · 4 years

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Battle Fairy Yukikaze: Final Thoughts

I loved this OVA.

It’s a loose adaptation of a pair of well-regarded sci-fi novels in Japan. The plot setup is that some time in the future, a hyperspace rift opens up in the skies above Antarctica, heralding an attack by an enigmatic and hostile alien force known only as the JAM. Mankind rallies and fights back, forcing the JAM back through the rift. On the other side is an alien planet called Fairy - though life returns mostly to normal on Earth, the battle against the JAM continues to rage in the skies above Fairy, between the UN-led Fairy Air Force and the forces of the JAM. Amidst this conflict, 2nd Lieutenant Rei Fukai is part of the SAF, which is a special recon branch of the FAF. A loner, he has only two real friends, the first being his commanding officer Jack Bukhar, and the second and less likely being his Super-Sylph fighter jet and its advanced onboard AI, nicknamed Yukikaze. The two form a close-knit man-machine symbiosis that will be tested to its limits as the strategies of the JAM become more insidious in their methods and as mankind struggles to keep pace.

The series sells itself primarily on the spectacle of its large-scale aerial battles - this is an early-to-mid 2000s series that make heavy use of 3D graphics, which is normally a recipe for disaster but works astonishingly well here, mostly due to stellar direction. Apparently it was produced and directed with the assistance of the air branch of Japan’s SDF, and it shows as something that while spectacular and exciting, still manages to feel authentic, whether it’s the lingo that gets slung between pilots or the green-lined HUD displays that get used in first person shots. Equally impressive are the aircraft designs, which are a fantastic mix of realistic and futuristic - you can see design elements that are very reminiscent of real modern aircraft, but with an added sense of sci-fi flair. They reminded me a lot of the original aircraft in Ace Combat 3 and Ace Combat X in that regard. At any rate, the end result is pretty much always something gorgeous to look at. The Super Sylph that Rei and Yukikaze start with, and the Mave that they upgrade into after the first episode are both fitting stars of the show.

Of course, the action isn’t worth as much if it’s not in service of a good story, and Yukikaze delivers on that front as well - at least in my opinion. I can see there being plenty of room to disagree. It becomes evident fairly quickly that it’s more than just a dumb shootout between fighter jocks and UFOs, and that the JAM’s agenda and methods are much more sophisticated than they first appear. This is a good thing because it makes for a more interesting story, but it’s not always presented in a way that’s clear, and things can easily get confusing. Things do come together really nicely in the final episode, but there are going to be times when you might have to pause for a minute or even rewind to fully wrap your head around what’s going on, which could make this a frustrating watch if it’s not really got his hooks in you. Also not really helping is that Rei’s not a particularly likable protagonist. He’s definitely a guy portrayed in the same mould as Chirico Cuvie, where he’s very taciturn, even to the point of being rude to other people. However, he really doesn’t have the same icy charisma or interesting backstory that can make a character like Chirico work - while he’s not unbearable or anything he’s still not great. He only really cares for flying and only really gets on with his flight computer - although on the flip side, what is kind of impressive is that said computer, Yukikaze, despite only communicating in short mission messages on the plane’s displays, has a personality all of its own and is arguably just as important a character as the human protagonist. The unlikely bond that the two share does go some way in alleviating some of Rei’s unlikability.

The OVA’s got 5 episodes: the first and last are around 45 minutes long, with the middle three being around 30 minutes each. A lot of the best action sequences and important plot sequences are front-and-back loaded into the first and last episodes, which leaves the middle three feeling slightly barren in comparison. It would have been nice for those middle three episodes to have a bit more beef, but that’s not to say that they’re bad - the plot developments that take place within them are still important and there’s still a solid amount of action in them. Ultimately the complete package is still great, even with the episodes not being as balanced as they could be. I’d recommend that anyone come take a watch just for the interesting setting and plot, and if you’re a lover of fighter jets in any way and like anime, then I’d say this is practically mandatory viewing. I’d put this right up there in the same ballpark as some of my other favourite OVA series like Detonator Orgun, Zeorymer or maybe even the lofty heights of Gunbuster and Macross Plus (if you were to put those two in a blender together, something like Yukikaze would probably come out, come to think of it.) This was definitely one of the best uses of an otherwise boring Sunday that I could have hoped for.

#battle fairy yukikaze

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treechangeseachange · 3 years

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The return

It’s coming up to 3 months since we returned to our block and it took us 8 weeks to slow down. On the weekend we slowed down we enjoyed the first official Friday night catch up with our neighbours as the full moon rose. On Saturday we went out for brunch. No sport on Sunday morning meant a sleep in. I played handball with my boys for the first time ever in my life. Lamb shanks slow cooked on the wood heater. We squeezed in a late Sunday afternoon fishing trip. It took us 8 weeks to find some calm. We had forgotten how to do normal. I haven’t written for this blog since um wow December?! My leisure time since then has been extremely limited and when it occurred I prioritised my mental wellbeing and sleep.

This journey has brought me to the edge of my psychological and physical limitations. I watched my husband do a terminator style non stop renovation while trying also to commence a rebuild. His promises to take time off over Christmas dwindled to 2 days. There was so much to do. I helped with whatever jobs I was able to and then focussed on the household and occasionally, our boys. Midway through January this year we realised trying to work on both the renovation and the rebuild was insanity. The local real-estate market was booming. Post COVID, Sydney city dwellers realised they could put in a few days in the city then work from their coastal holiday pad the rest of the week. We decided to get our investment property, come bushfire haven, onto the market before the summer ended. We mapped out each remaining job and the days required to accomplish them. We calculated selling time, settlement time and remaining bank balance. What were need to do’s and what were optional extras. If everything went to plan, we could pay to get some work done at the block and make it habitable enough to move into. It was an extreme test of time, energy and resources.

It worked. We listed by the end of February, sold in three weeks and settled five weeks after settlement. I write that all in one glib sentence. Of course all of that only happened with considerable focus and effort. Life for the boys was hectic. 99% of their toys were packed and moved into storage weeks before the house went on the market. As the house neared completion we stressed about them damaging something. When the house was on the market we stressed about them getting things dirty - the walls, the windows or the cupboards. I banished them from the bathroom, they had to brush teeth in the laundry and shower outside. Luckily it was warm and didn’t rain much in those few weeks! Anyone who has sold a house while living in it knows how painful open homes are. The logistics and effort of cleaning and styling, while working full time from home, scheduling everything between work appointments, getting the dog out of the way and the boys to school, nearly broke me. Thankfully the selling process was short, but we packed a lot of opens into that time and by the end of it all, I had become a shouty, grouchy mum and wife. It was also a real highlight to hit menopause and bring some phenomenal hormonal energy into the mix. Phew.

Before we packed up and left I was lucky enough to have a week away with the boys. My fully wired self hit Melbs and my family gave me refuge and forgave my intensity. We managed some fun and the change of scenery was a big relief. Husband, however, stayed behind to work on the temporary shed home. Holiday behind me, I returned to packup and clean and polish the house for the financial return of our lives. Literally.

Can you then imagine our triumphant and spectacular return to our block bathed in happiness and light? Um well perhaps instead picture this - we arrived exhausted to an unpowered, work in progress temporary residence in the middle of a mice plague and endured 200ml of heavy rain in four days leaving us surrounded by mud. Happy to catch the rain in our tank? I wish! The new tank leaked 8000L the week before we moved, and only our neighbour’s spare tank loan meant we had any water at all. But being so small, it overflowed and made even more mud. The heavy rain was so loud on the tin roof it frequently woke the kids in the night (who then woke us), mice ran across the floor, huntsmen spiders dropped from the ceiling. With nowhere really to unpack things, cooking became like the biggest ever memory game, which box were the bowls in? Where did I pack the cutlery? The rain delayed our solar power install so for 10 days we lived out of an esky and by torchlight. We both kept working full time, getting the boys to school, after school sport commitments and then husband kept building after he got home and into the night. After a week of stress and chaos we knew something had to give, fortunately husband could take time off work to focus on our build and family life.

Fast forward to now. The financial pressure of the summer has eased. The temporary living quarters are functional and steadily improving. We have a beautiful wood heater. Our off grid solar system is powering us even during these short winter days. I have more kitchen cupboards than ever before, plus a dishwasher! I have hung up my clothes in a full wardrobe for the first time in nearly four years. The boys each have clean new wardrobes. Their separate rooms are still being built so they are in what will be our room which is insulated and wall paneled. We can cope with an outside shower and toilet. My husband is a legend.

What’s it like actually being back? I confess I was nervous about my own and the boys emotions. Eldest son is extremely happy to be back. Youngest son has taken time to adjust but that has more been due to his fear of the dark. The noises of the bush are unfamiliar and there are no streetlights out here! There has only been one time where a prebushfire memory overwhelmed me. Every person’s bushfire experience and recovery is unique. Unlike many others we are fortunate have the opportunity to not have to build on the exact footprint of the old place and I think this is psychologically helpful. It’s not the same space, and with some trees dead and gone the landscape is altered, its a slightly different perspective. The boys are older now, so our lifestyle is different too. Slowly we are finding a new rhythm on our land. The boys are absolutely loving being back on their bikes on bush tracks.

I was excited to resume my morning walks, although maybe not as excited the dog! He’s happy to have his off-lead roam again. But the first week of walking I found tough, the burnt and recovering state forest I traverse didn’t bring me the joy it used to. In the heavily logged areas where only isolated saplings were left unlogged, they couldn’t survive the heat of the fire or they didn’t have community trees to share nutrients through their roots to support recovery. The undergrowth is now the canopy and is booming with all the extra sunlight but when I look at it, all I see is fire hazard. Then as the weeks went by, my view softened, I recognise the bush is healing like me. I am appreciating small wonders of nature. A spider’s web highlighted with morning dew or the fascination of new plants thriving. There are trees that have fully recovered, others seem to be doing well, and there is much green in the landscape to enjoy.

On my morning walk I also see which animals are about in the night from what they leave behind. There is at least one very busy wombat! We see wallabies reasonably often and last week one morning I found big roo prints in the clay right near our place. We hear a boobook owl calling most nights and more frogs chirping croaking from the gully than I ever remember. Which now makes sense, we definitely were in drought for some years prior to the fires and the creek has this year been running for months. Less exciting is hearing foxes at night, my son especially dislikes their eerie calls. In daytime the bird life is altered. We are down to one lyrebird, there used to be two with adjacent territories battling loudly with their extraordinary mimicry. But at least there is one, how a ground bird survived I can’t imagine. The yellow robins aren’t around us now, we have wrens in the cleared spaces and in the lush shrubs busy brown gerygones dart and chirp. A shrike thrush has made a nest in our bushfire remains pile, her song is piercing and wonderful. Rarely are the yellow crested black cockatoos here now. This past weekend we did see two circling wedge tailed eagles the silent assassins of the sky wheeling high over the gully with that phenomenal wingspan.

Surprisingly my greatest source of happiness in these first few months being back has come from the sky. Unobstructed by buildings, the sky feels bigger in the bush. I’m loving the late winter sunrises. My very favourite time is just after the sun has risen when the horizontal sun rays set tops of the trees bright orange. Those are magical minutes of golden tinged trees. The sunsets. The stars. The moon. the sky has been a revelation and a source of happiness. Maybe because I’m spending more time outside I notice it more. Seeing glittering stars through the steam of a hot outdoor shower makes the cold walk inside completely worth it!

Slowly I am regaining my sense of gratitude for this place. The quiet. The privilege of not seeing another house. Having no curtains and that not mattering. Not worrying about noise and neighbours. Lack of street lights at night.

All of a sudden things aren’t hectic and we are settling in. It still amazes me after 6 moves in 5 years how intense moving is and then how imperceptibly things transition to not being new anymore. Normalcy sneaks up on me every time. Clearly this isn’t really normal but we’re enjoying this new start in our old place.

#treechange #seachange #nswbushfires #recovery #offgrid

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skywatch3rs · 4 years

Text

A Sunday mushing adventure

One of the first questions I got from friends about being at a folkehøgskole was what we do on a day off. Often I'll take the opportunity to sleep in; living with a chronic illness means I need to make the most of the time I can rest. However, sometimes I use a free day to go on an adventure!

*** Sunday 17.1.21 – Sledding with Mailin

Sunday is always a free day, so we get to do whatever we want! Normally I have a long lie in, but one of my friends isn’t feeling well, so I’m taking his feeding shift today, so I’m up at 9 to get dressed and head to the dog yard. It’s a balmy -4ºC today, so I’m just wearing one layer of wool underwear under my thick hiking pants and wool sweater, snow boots, hat and gloves. Now that it’s too cold to leave water in the bowls all day, we feed the dogs a soup in the morning to make sure they stay hydrated enough; equal amounts of meat and kibble, mixed in with lots of warm water and left to soak for about 15 minutes while we scoop poop. Tequila and Tibia both pick the kibble out of their soup and then tip their bowls over, and spend the rest of the morning licking at the snow where the meat water spilled over (weirdos). Ami doesn’t like her soup, but happily chews on a ‘meatsicle’– the disk of now-frozen soup that was accidentally left in her bowl overnight.

After plenty of cuddles, the three of us who fed today head back to our dorms to change out of our “dog clothes” before breakfast. I realise this is possibly only the second time ever that I’ve been to breakfast on a Sunday! It’s 2 hours later than on a weekday, at 10am, and I am normally always either already out doing something or still asleep, depending on the weekend.

Today I’m heading over to my friend Mailin’s to run dogs with her at 11, so I change back into my dog clothes, putting on an extra layer of wool. Between the wind and the fact you’re mostly either sitting as a passenger or standing quite still on the runners, it’s always colder when you’re out mushing. For Christmas I got myself a new pair of felted wool boots and overshoes to wear when I mush, because my old snow boots weren’t warm enough for my feet– I have terrible circulation– so I’m excited to try them out for the first time! Mailin is a friend of a friend, and has become an unofficial mentor to me in the past few months. She’s a seasoned musher who lives directly across the road from the school, and most weekends and some weekday afternoons I go over to train the dogs with her. All of last semester we were using either her car or ATV because there wasn’t enough snow, so today is going to be my first sled trip with her! I’m also taking with me several bottles of coca cola and some chocolate, as a thank you for the four bags of mushing gear that no longer fits her that she gave me last week. There were some real gems in there, and I know she won’t accept any money for them, so payment in sugar it is.

Geizzi in her tshirt being used as a chin-rest by Uvja

This morning Mailin wants to take out the puppies on a run; she has 5 pups who are 10 months old now, so they can run shorter distances than the adult dogs. We harness up pups Rajapää and Sorbme along with adult dogs Geizzi, Uvja, Timo, Hulda and Lelu, and Mailin show’s me how to tie a slipknot– her way of securing the sled to a post before we start. At school we use a different system involving pulling a short, thick stick out of two interconnected loops, and I have to say I prefer the slipknot method. One of the incredibly valuable things about training with Mailin has been seeing alternative ways of doing things with the dogs, as it means I have some familiarity wider variety of techniques. Mailin trains her dogs to stay quiet while we harness them up, which means things take a little longer, as every time one of the puppies starts barking, we stop what we’re doing and wait for them to stop again before we continue. Once all the dogs have their harnesses on, we start bringing them up to the line, and that’s when the full force of excited barking is allowed to start. Even after 5 months of mushing, that sound still fills me with a rush of joy and adrenaline.

I settle myself in the sled– I’ve only driven one three times before, so I assume I’ll be a passenger today, though Mailin has said I might be able to drive in the future, which is an absolute honour, considering the standard she has for her dogs, and the trust involved. She pulls the rope to undo the slipknot, and we’re off! I always love training with her dogs, but it is vastly different being a passenger in the sled than sitting in her car with her as we trained the dogs last year. The trail out of her dog yard is bumpy and windy, including a part where we both have to lean as hard as we can to the left, to try not to tip the sled into a ditch as we go up a slope; she wanted to fill it in earlier in the season, but there hasn’t been enough snow to do so. We make it through the bend, and suddenly we are out on the frozen river which marks the border between Norway and Russia. The sun came back yesterday; it rose above the horizon for the first time since November, putting an end to ‘mørketid’ (dark time), and Mailin tells me it’s traditional to make a wish when you see the sun again for the first time. I wish I’d known that yesterday, I would have wished for more snow!

The stunning view from the sled, out on the Pasvik river

Mushing is always beautiful, but today is particularly gorgeous: the dogs running smoothly out on the frozen river, with the most spectacular sunrise/set happening in front of us. I honestly can’t believe this is my life now. Then, as if I wasn’t already feeling like the luckiest person in the world, Mailin asks me if I want to mush. I’m incredulous– she trusts me with this already?! But the trail is smooth and mostly straight, so it’s great for a relative beginner like me. I jump out of the sled, hop on the runners, and off we go again. Immediately, I’m struck by how much better my new boots are than my old ones: they’re wider, so I have more surface area to grip the runners, and thinner and more flexible in the soles, so I can feel what’s under my feet better. My toes stay toasty warm the whole four hours I’m out with Mailin, which is a record.

We mush down the river, past the house of the friend who introduced us, Anne. If I wasn’t terrified of letting go of the sled, I would have taken a picture to send to her, but I settle for just telling her later. Soon, we get to the point where we need to turn the team, which is where things get difficult. I assume Mailin will want to take over again, but she lets me keep driving. We are trying to get the dogs to turn to the left and loop around so we can go back, but our leaders, Geizzi and Uvja, are not having it. Tiny superstar Geizzi pushes Uvja over to the left when Mailin gives her ‘haw’ command, but Uvja just runs over to the next parallel trail, so I have to break, stop the team, and give the command again. We repeat this several times, until eventually Geizzi drags the team around by turning to the right– not what we wanted them to do, but at least we managed to turn the dogs finally! I then add to the slight chaos by not turning the sled fast enough– Mailin’s sled is longer than the ones we use at school– so I crash us into a tussock, and flip the sled for the first time. I’m mortified, both because I have tipped Mailin onto the ice, and because I instinctively let go of the sled when it tipped, something you should never ever do; if you’re alone and you let go, the team will just run off without you. Luckily everyone is fine, and Mailin doesn’t mind: “every musher tips the sled sometimes!”. I’m glad she is nonchalant about this, because a few kilometres later, as we head back towards her dog yard, I tip the sled again into the ditch she navigated so smoothly on the way out. Nevertheless, we make it back to the dog yard in one piece, and Mailin asks me if I want to go out again. I still have 2 hours until dinner, so obviously the answer is yes!

We unhook the dogs, take the two puppies out of their harnesses, and then harness up Roavvi and Koru. The third pup, Biekhan, and adults Toivo, Vandre and Storm had dog chiropractic sessions yesterday (yes, that is a thing!), so they aren’t going to run today, and neither is Ella, who is in heat. I wolf down a square of peanut butter flapjack and half a bottle of soda, then hop back into the sled to head back out onto the river. We take the same route out of the dog yard, and Mailin shows me up again by navigating the ditch perfectly, but she does have more than a decade of experience on me, so I don’t take it too hard. One we make it out onto the river, we turn left instead of right, taking the trail up towards where the river gets narrower, hugging the Norwegian edge of the ice. Just after the 5km turning point, Mailin lets me switch places and drive again, which results in me accidentally letting the team start before I have given them the command to; not a great habit for them to get into, but it is so beautiful out on the river that neither of us can be too annoyed. Mailin takes some pictures of me grinning like a loon while driving, and then I complete the hat trick of sled tips with a third and final plunge into that damned ditch. I really need to practice not letting go when I fall, which means I have to tip the sled more to practice, so at least today was a useful lesson in that!

For some reason, Mailin insisted on hiding under the sled bag while taking a photo of me driving the team

Back at the dog yard, we unharness the puppies, and move the adults back to their houses for a brief snack break of some tasty frozen horse meat. Mailin is going to take the adults out again for another 30km or so after she has a quick lunch, to try and get them up to about 60km today. If she was racing this year she would be doing 300km over the weekend, but with so many young dogs, and no Finnmarksløpet ambitions until 2022, a short 60km is just fine for today. After giving the dogs one last cuddle, we head into the garage for Mailin to find her old mountain skis, which I’m going to borrow for the next couple of months, since skis are so expensive to buy new, and she doesn’t use hers very often. Norwegians don’t really do politeness in the same way Brits do, so I try to reel in my instinct to offer profuse thanks, and just say one short sincere thank you instead.

Skis in hand, I walk back across the road to school, change back into normal clothes, and head to dinner. We have 4 meals a day at school: breakfast, lunch at 11:30, middag (a hot dinner) at 3pm, and kveldsmat (supper) at 7:30. I got used to it last semester, but now that I’ve been back in the UK for Christmas, it feels weird to be eating the biggest meal of the day in the middle of the afternoon. Food at school can be a bit hit and miss, but today it is finbif, one of my favourites! I have kitchen duty this week, so after dinner I head into the kitchen to help with the dishes, which takes me right back to working as a waitress. Finally I have a couple of hours of down time before I need to feed the dogs in the evening, so I re-shave my undercut, shower, call my grandma, and chill out with a book for a bit. Then it’s back to the dog yard, where we feed with just meat in the evening. It snows a little bit, which is sorely needed, as it’s been a bad winter so far. I go back to my dorm, change, head to dinner, do my kitchen duty, and collapse into bed to watch the US men’s nationals figure skating with a couple of friends before I head to sleep, ready for my first normal school day back after Christmas tomorrow!

#fhsliv #folkehøgskole #folk high school #finnmark #norway #dog sledding #mushing #photography #pasvik folkehøgskole #pasvik fhs

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mi6-cafe · 4 years

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HERE ARE THE DRABBLES FOR WEEK 2!

Ready to READ&VOTE?!

Well, let’s refresh your memory first.

This week our competitors were asked to write exactly 200 angsty words inspired by the phrase: ” to strive, to seek, to find, but not to yield ”

HOW DO YOU VOTE?

Read all the drabbles. (they’re below the line)

Choose three that you like the most.

Fill out this VOTING FORM, telling us your favourites. (You can even leave anonymous feedback for the author).

NOTE: If you are a competitor, you CANNOT vote for your own fic. But please, do vote. :)

The voting period ends at 11:59 PM EST on Sunday night. Results will be posted and anonymous feedback will be emailed on Monday.

Title: Sisyphean Author: Anyawen Warnings: MCD (Major Character Death) Summary: Cause. And effect.

He had refused to give up when the signal was lost. If there were the slightest chance, the smallest trace, he would find and make use of it. He wrestled with technology, fought bureaucracy, and ignored his own limits. Like Orpheus, he followed a trail gone dark and cold to find the hell where his beloved was held. A team already en route for rescue, he activated a camera. Like Orpheus, his love was lost as he laid eyes on him. An indicator light on the camera blinked to life, betraying their surveillance, and they gained visuals only to watch his agent's execution. Unlike Orpheus when he lost his Eurydice, he did not fall prey to despair. He would not betray his lover's memory or dishonor his sacrifice by pining away. He channeled his grief into ingenuity, political savvy, fierce protectiveness, and an icy, vengeful fury. He focused on the interests of the country for which his lover had given his life, and the other agents who continued to risk everything in that same service. He would do everything in his power to keep them safe and bring them home. Gods have mercy on any who tried to stop him.

Title: Savvy Author: stormofsharpthings Warnings: no Archive warnings apply Summary: Bond is missing...

He couldn’t find James.

He’d often had to remind the newer techs that the double-oh agents might play dumb to get out of filing reports but the nature of their job these days required them to be almost as computer-savvy as Q Branch themselves. And Bond was more skilled than most, though he kept it quiet. So an unaccustomed panic threatened to overwhelm him the longer James was missing.

There was no trace despite hours of desperate searching through surveillance footage. He’d even hacked into dashboard-camera databases online. Bond had walked into that bloody meeting and all electronics had gone dark.

“If he were dead, there’d be a body!” he’d shouted at M. Other agents were out looking, but there was no evidence at the location. If Bond had been abducted, there was no rescue possible yet. Q refused to think of torture.

James would leave a sign...somehow...somewhere...if he could.

In frantic desperation, Q started checking logs of internet-connected devices. A smart bulb in an industrial warehouse was reporting an intermittent error, probably from faulty wiring, but Q mapped the errors and times from the online log and found a rough pattern: long long short long. Morse code for Q.

Title: Blind Author: SouffleGirl91 Warnings: None. Summary: He couldn’t see.

He couldn’t see.

He needed to find them, but he couldn’t see.

Fear. A fist, seizing his heart. Squeezing his chest until all he could feel was sheer panic. Struggling to breathe.

A hundred scenarios ran through his mind, a warning of what might happen if he failed. Cyber attacks going unprevented. Terrorist attacks unthwarted. Agents dead. All because of him.

Because the Quartermaster wasn’t at his post.

He needed to find them. The Quartermaster needed to return to his post.

But he couldn’t see.

Where were they? All the intel said they would be here. They must be here. They had to be.

What if they weren’t?

How would he explain?

What would he say when M asked him why the Quartermaster was missing?

There was no other option, he had to find them. He couldn’t give up.

But he couldn’t see.

Blindly, he reached out, feeling around. His fingers brushed over the debris of a life interrupted. He recoiled as his hand came into contact with a pool of liquid. Still warm.

Oh, God!

More urgently now, he sought, knocking things aside. There wasn't enough time!

There!

Q put on his glasses, finally ready to face the day.

Title: Tennyson Author: sorion Warnings: - Summary: Bond loves more easily than he would like to.

‘Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all.

"What utter nonsense," Bond said, drink in hand. It wasn't his first. Nor his second.

If he could travel back in time, he'd choose not to love. Every time.

Love brought him nothing but betrayal and pain. How could loving and losing be better than never loving in the first place? He wouldn't be blind to the inevitable betrayal (and death) without love.

Today's reason for the drinks was that time travel didn't exist, and Bond had once more been confronted with the frustrating fact that he couldn't not love, time and again. Much as he would have liked to.

"Just how drunk are you?" someone asked, sidling up to his solitary spot at the bar.

'Not drunk enough to purge you from my system,' Bond thought. Despite his best efforts and iron will, he made the mistake of lifting his head, meeting questioning but undemanding eyes.

Reflected in those eyes, he found the truth that love was as much his constant companion as death. Neither weakness nor enemy, but the backbone of his very nature.

"Perhaps... 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world."

Title: Hunger Author: sunaddicted Warnings: canon typical violence, toxic relationships Summary: the truth hurts more than a bullet wound He pursed his lips, eyes contemplating the ruin spread out at his feet: his life, his career, his dreams - everything lay shattered on the ground, all of his hard work and his striving aspirations turned to dust. "Hungry - you were always hungry for more than you can chew, clever boy" Q pursed his lips, refusing to look at the other - stubbornly staring out at the moors, fog slowly raising from the earth like poisonous vapours "It's your fault, Raoul" "Shut up" "It wasn't the plan!" "¡Callate!" Suddenly there was the cold circle of a gun's barrel pressed in the middle of his forehead - so icy that it almost burned against his skin. Q swallowed, tightening his hands in fists that would do nothing to protect him from a bullet straight to the brain "She doesn't give a shit about you, she never has" Raoul sneered "And you do?" "Yes, I do" Raoul laughed, derisive and cruel: it hurt more than a bullet ever would but Q wasn't giving up on him - he wasn't sure he could; yielding under pressure and escaping just wasn't an option, they were together for life, inextricably bound together. No matter how deadly Raoul's love was.

Title: Lost and Found Author: Ksania / starrboned Warnings: implied canon-typical violence Summary: James made a promise he couldn't keep.

James finds him kneeling in the ruins, a dark silhouette against the fiery sky.

His sword makes a quiet "slink!" as he unsheathes it, flaring in the dying light. The blade's pale as it kisses Q's neck.

"Hello, James," Q says. "I hoped it would be you who'd find me."

Waves clash beneath them, salt heavy in the air.

"Nothing to say?" Q asks. "You always were a man of few words."

"They're coming," James breathes, watching as Q rises to his feet, turning.

His eyes are bloodshot, face pale. Black cloak hanging from skinny shoulders. A shadow of the man who held James's heart.

"James." Q cracks a smile. "You promised."

Once upon a time, when they were a Queen's mage and her knight.

James grips his sword, knuckles white.

He lets the blade drop. "I'm not killing you."

"You must." Q takes a step closer. "You know what she'll do -"

Footsteps approach. James pulls Q into his arms.

"Then we both die!" Q hisses, clutching at his cloak. "And everything was for naught!"

"So be it," James smiles, kissing him. "We both knew it was going to end this way."

Q sighs. "They're here."

James raises his sword.

Title: Adamant Author: IrishWitch58 (captain-magicalkitty) Warning: Effects of violence Summary: Q ponders the similarities between himself and 007

The monitors beeped steadily, monotonously. Q hated the sound that screamed the fallibility of his systems, that made him face the ways in which he couldn't keep his agents safe. He shifted in the chair, the same he had occupied for the past 10 hours. He was connected to his branch, overseeing ongoing activities but that mattered less than the silent battered figure in the hospital bed. James had once again both succeeded and failed in that spectacular fashion that made him the best MI6 had. The mission goal had been accomplished but the medical evac had been a skin of the teeth exercise. More damage done, more scars. Bond's resume was written clearly on his body, scars upon scars marring the skin Q valued more than his own. Q acknowledged that his technological efforts could only do so much. It was the indomitable spirit of the man that was at issue. His nature was to push beyond the known and see for himself and to never give in to circumstance. In his own way, Q was the same, which was why he would sit and wait and plan how to avoid the next disaster, as unyielding as any agent.

Title: The End Author: Venstar Warnings: angst(?) Summary: farewells.

It was all coming to a close with this next mission. It was a death trap. Once he went in, there was no coming out.

“Duty calls, I must go.”

“That's bollocks.”

007 smiled down at Q and brushed a finger across his chin and down his jaw. “This will be your first resurrection to witness, won’t it? Every story has an ending.”

“There’s only one 007 in my books.”

007 laughed at the jokes Q valiantly made with effort.

Q’s eyes narrowed and his lips compressed into a straight line. ��I’ll find a way to get you back.”

“Seek and you will not find me,” Bond whispered, “It will be a new 007 when you finally yield to the inevitable.”

“Never!”

“So they replace me and they will replace you.”

Q shook his head. “We could leave. Would that be so terrible?”

007 looked at Q with pity in his eyes. “That would be treasonous.”

“It’s not like you’ve never skipped town before!” Q blurted out, his cheeks red.

“I am no traitor.”

“No, you’re a loyal dog. Now I understand why M kept that hideous thing on her table.” Q spat his words at 007’s feet.

“Goodbye, Q.”

Title: Never Yielding Author: iambid (flantastic) Warnings: None Summary: James is bullish, Q just wants him to stop.

Q waited for him outside M’s office.

“What the hell, Bond?”

James didn’t miss a step as he carried on down the corridor forcing Q to trot to keep up with him.

“James! Talk to me!” He pleaded.

James stopped abruptly and whirled around.

“About what? What exactly would you like to talk about?”

“This!” Q responded hotly, gesturing. “Why are you going back out into the field?”

“Because they need me.” James snapped.

“But I thought…”

“What exactly? That a gunshot wound would put me out of action permanently? That I would want to spend the rest of my days hanging around your house like some kind of rescue dog? I have a job to do, Quartermaster.”

He went to turn but Q grabbed his wrist.

“What about us?” Q asked quietly.

“There is no us.” James said and then, when he saw the hurt in Q’s eyes, he added; “It was a dream. Thank you for taking me in and taking care of me, but it can’t continue.” He looked down at Q’s hand, still resting on his wrist, and regretfully shook it off. “People like me don’t deserve people like you,” he said sadly before walking away.

#10

Title: ghost Author: azure7539 Warnings: none Summary: Question and answer.

What went wrong?

By the time he arrives, there’s nothing of value left. He takes in the sight of the cramped room—one bare mattress in the corner, energy bar wrappings pushed into a pile, empty water bottles strewn around the floor—and stops at the coffee table. The near humid scent of cigarettes lingers in the air, unseen but winds like spidery gossamer, spooling from the crushed fags in that full ashtray next to an abandoned laptop.

His eye twitches.

Barely gone but not within chasing distance, his mind grudgingly concludes, and he sits down on the cracked tiles with a grunt. Despite the Caribbean sun flaring outside an unrelenting spot of heat as it pierced in through the windows, the place sustains a perpetual coolness that settles on his shoulders a phantom weight.

Really, he should worry more about potential booby traps in the laptop, but the thought doesn’t even stir his apprehension, and he opens it anyway.

The words he finds on the screen seize his breath before flickering back into an empty void.

His earpiece crackles to life with a hissing fit. “Status report.”

“He’s gone,” Bond growls, shutting the device with a harsh click.

/I went wrong./

#11

Title: The Perfect Gift Author: Shush_MummyWriting Warnings: None Summary: "to strive, to seek, to find, but not to yield."

The moment he saw her, he knew she was perfect.

Madelaine was not just beautiful, but brave, smart and had a backbone of steel. Knowing her background, she was the ideal partner for an old warhorse like James Bond.

Q felt the tiny flame that had been nurtured by every bit of banter, every special look sent his way, every promise extracted, compounded by every risk he had taken for Bond, flicker and die.

When he returned to his favourite workstation in the bowels of Q Branch, the information he had requested from the Archives had already arrived. Q had followed Bond’s career even before their first official meeting and as he looked over the old blueprints, he realised this would be the perfect farewell gift for Bond.

Besides, it would make an excellent project for the Garage minions. With a little creative accounting, sketches already flowing from his fingers to his screen, he would pour every ounce of his brilliance into the DB5 and it would be ready when Bond got back.

Then Q would be able put all those inconvenient feelings behind him and say good-bye to James Bond, with a smile, like the friend that he was.

#12

Title: 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world Author: scarytheory Warnings: mention of character death, depression Summary: James's got his happily ever after with Madeleine. Still – he's struggling every day.

...you should know-

James wakes up from a nightmare, panicking, trying to catch his breath. Madeleine is used to it by now. She just whispers ‘you're safe, you're home’, still half-asleep. But he gets up and pours himself some whisky because he doesn't know what home means anymore.

Everything is blurred. Maybe he made the wrong choice. Even though she's here, and he loves her.

But he's still thinking about that phone call. It's been six months, and he can't stop thinking about it.

“Q died. I thought you should know.”

Wrong home.

More whisky.

And more nightmares.

There is a weird inner ache that James can't even name; he is too afraid to do so. A little bit of it belongs to Madeleine because they can't be happy together; it will never be enough. It's also about Q because James failed him. He knew and he left anyway, left everything that could have been.

But mostly it's about James himself. Because he's so tired and scared to go back and fight again. But in the end, he knows that he will do what he always does.

Not yield.

Not yet.

Even though the whisky is burning in his throat.

#13

Title: Unyielding Author: AtoTheBean Warnings: None Summary: Q will hate that fucking poem for the rest of his life...

“You’re going to lose him.”

“I’m not,” Bond grunts over the comms.

“Repositioning 006 to intercept,” Q replies, signaling to R.

He looks back at the screen to find Bond has stolen a motorbike.

“007, stand down. The plaza’s too crowded.”

“All the more reason to stay with the bomb.”

Q sighs, switching screens to an aerial view. Bond’s so stubborn since his return.

Though, not at first. At first he was accommodating… practically deferential…. And Q was unyielding in his anger. It’s taken months to find their rapport... for Q to acknowledge they still make a good team, ignoring the dull ache of what else he wishes they might be.

“Approaching the bridge.”

“I see you,” Q says, refocusing.

“Good place to douse a bomb...”

“But how would…” Cold dread fills Q. 007 is still fast, but even he acknowledges his reaction times have slowed...

The motor revs. “'We're not now that strength which in old days—’.”

“James Bond, don’t you dare quote Tennyson at me!”

Q watches Bond grab the mark—

“JAMES!”

—and hurl them both off the bridge. He hears the rush of wind, a splash, and then static.

The water-muffled explosion on the screen is silent.

#14

Title: The Balad of Sir Bond Author: ladymars Warnings: Implied Major Character Death Summary: A prince seeks for his knight.

Lady Moneypenny, from her kneel and still wearing her tattered armor, presented a scrap of burnt fabric to her prince. "This is all we found of him, Your Highness." Cold ice ran through the prince's veins. His breath left him. "No, that can't be..." "I saw him go into that cave myself," the knight interrupted, her voice tight, "I told him we should return, call for reinforcements, but he pushed inside." "Stubborn bastard..." Sir Bond had escaped from dire situations, deadly situations, returned to life with a smirk, a swagger, and the head of their enemy in hand (never his sword, of course, always losing and breaking those), but from a man-eating monster? Of course he's stupid enough to jump in without hesitation. Something pushed the prince up from his throne and to his feet. He staggered as if grief had possessed him and moved his limbs like the automatons he assembled, a yearning pulling him forward. "I'll find him. He's out there. I'll search the ends of the world for him." Moneypenny paled. "But sir—" "No!" His voice did not sound like his own, strangled and high. "He's out there!" A fury flickered in his eyes. "I'll never yield."

Thank you all for writing these wonderful drabbles!

Thank you all for voting and making this properly fun!

Here is the post announcing the winners.

#LDWS #angst #signal boost #writing competition #james bond fanfiction #last drabble writer standing #drabble

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iatasbcl · 5 years

Text

You Were Born

Pairing: Deviant!Connor x Reader

Summary: It’s Connor’s birthday and the two of you take a trip down memory lane.

A/N: I didn’t feel motivated enough to write on the 15th so here is a late birthday fic for my boy!! Prepare yourself for some tooth-rooting fluff and shitty references, Enjoy!

W.C: 2K? I think

Monday, August 15, 2039

The first thing Connor noticed was how abnormal the silence surrounding the Andersson household was. His home wasn’t one known for quietness nor peacefulness, it disconcerted him how he couldn’t even hear Sumo’s familiar barking that he heard every time he came back from work. The lights were out too.

The atmosphere sent him spiraling into the worst possibilities, was everyone attacked? Were you hurt?

The thoughts terrified him, but he moved towards the door nonetheless, he knocked once, twice, thrice. He touched the doorknob and it turned with ease, the door let out long creaks as he tried his best to look in the dark, he, unfortunately, was not equipped with night-vision optical units.

Something was wrong, something was wrong, something was wrong —

“Surprise!”

As soon as the word hit him, the lights were on and his eyes immediately adjusted. The inner decor was covered with birthday decorations, a big ‘HAPPY ACTIVATIᵛᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᵈᵃʸ’ sign hung between the living room and the kitchen. It was your font; you probably didn’t take the size of the banner into account.

Most of the people he knew were there; Hank, Sumo, Nines, his friends from Jericho, and even Gavin. And you, who was smiling at him with the adorable smile he loved so much.

You closed in on him and pulled him into a tight hug, your lips pecked his cheek and you whispered, “Happy birthday.” Into his ear.

—

The party wasn’t over the top, as most of the people here were exhausted from another tiring Monday.

“It was ____’s idea.” Said Hank with some blue whipped cream covering his mustache, “They managed to gather everyone today, took a whole lot of convincing bring that rat-man.” Connor now knew that was Gavin’s nickname.

He appreciated it, you gathered everyone he loved in one room for him on a weekday, nonetheless. You and Hank made him cake shaped like a cartoonish robot with blue frosting, it was a bit messy, but it looked perfect to him. He appreciated the sentiment behind it even though he couldn’t taste it.

—

“Then I yelled ‘Fuck da police’” Said a weirdly drunk Gavin, Connor wondered where he got enough booze to become this intoxicated. He locked everything away for Hank’s sake.

“Detective, you work for the police.” Was Nines’ coolly response.

“Yeah… Fuck ‘em.”

“Nice,” You interjected, taking a sip of your drink “So, you’re saying where you were 15 you stole a car, crashed it, stole another car and yelled ‘fuck da police’ in the face of the office that was arresting you?”

“Yeah… it was awesome” He slurred.

“I feel like I should be surprised but I’m not.” You nodded to yourself.

—

“Hey, Markus?” Connor noticed the alcohol in your body slightly increased as you swayed next to him, “Is it true? Is Warren an android?”

Markus blinked at your sudden question; Connor gave him an apologetic smile.

“I can’t confirm nor deny that.” He chuckled.

“That’s a yes, Gavin you own me 20 dollars.” You ran to where the said man was.

—

Everyone had left as it got late, Nines accompanied Gavin to his home, Markus and the rest of Jericho went to the airport to catch their flight and a rather tired Hank retreated to his room.

It was just the two of you know, he did what you advised him to do if you slipped and drank too much. He made you coffee and gave you water, it didn’t take that long for you to begin to sober up.

“I am dating a one-year-old.” You muttered to yourself, sobering you liked questioning your life choices.

“I am technically designed to be in my late twenties or early thirties.” He corrected and you groaned, “Yeah, yeah.”

For the first time in the last hours, it was quiet. But this felt pleasant.

“Do you… wanna open your presents?”

Presents were a common part of birthday parties, given in celebration of the person’s birthday. He did receive gifts and cards from the attendees that he was curious to see.

And so, he did. He and you sat next to each other on the comfy couch and began to open the gifts.

The first one was a physical copy of the book ‘I, Robot’ by Isaac Asimov. He was surprised to see it was from Gavin, of all people. “Aw, he really loves that book,” you said, “Do you think you noticed you reading a lot in the precinct?”

Reading was another hobby he picked up, he enjoyed how relaxing it was.

The second one was from Nines, it was a mug with a Saint Bernard on it, it looked just liked Sumo. He smiled; he was going to use it for his thirium.

You were smiling too, like you felt happy for how loved he felt right now.

The third one was from Markus; it was a portrait of him. His Art always managed to take Connor’s breath away. “Damn, we gotta hang that over the fireplace.”

North gave him a custom-made knife; Josh wrote a birthday card that thanked him for his help with their cause and Simon gifted him a little cactus.

Hank’s gift would’ve knocked the air out of his lungs if he had to breath. Most wouldn’t call it a spectacular gift, but it meant a lot to Connor. It was an antique coin, similar to his dear one he lost a while ago. He flicked it into his other hand, testing the waters as they say. He knew how Hank found his habit irritating and yet he got him a new coin, a beautiful one too.

“Okay, show off. C’mon open mine.” You ushered and he noticed how you started to look anxious, “Are you alright?”

“Yes, of course, just open the thing.” You pushed the wrapped box towards him, and he nodded.

It was a scrapbook, made of polaroid pictures of him and the people around you. The first page was from the first time you met, the Carlos Ortiz crime scene. He remembered how Hank scolded you for taking a picture of this piece of shit instead of working. You did not care at all.

Friday, November 5, 2038

-Welcome to the team, Mr. the android sent by cyberlife

The next page included a picture of him and Hank in the car while you drove to Kamski’s place, he remembered it being rather… dull. You didn’t talk much nor did Hank.

Tuesday, November 9, 2038

-Going to visit Mr. I live in the mountains while the whole world burns, this should be great. Also, Connor is listening to heavy metal lol

He did mean it when he said he would like to listen to music, heavy metal has been one of his favorite genres ever since. His grin only grew wider when he saw the next picture. It was taken in Hank’s house, a shot of the TV displayed him standing behind Markus and the thousands of androids in front of them.

Friday, November 12, 2038

-This dork literally joined a revolution and won… what a power move

also hank is tearing up but he threatened to break my camera if I took a photo ):

“Hank cried?” He asked and you immediately nodded, “I told you he’s a softie… he was happy you were alright.” Right, he was almost killed beforehand by his ‘evil twin’ as you said, it made sense for him to worry.

He flipped the page and a wave of happier memories hit him. Things were still hectic since the revolution ‘ended’. Many evacuated the city despite the peaceful approach that Markus took, their fear was irrational yet understandable. This meant most of the resident of Detroit were androids.

It wasn’t bad but the evacuation only meant many humans still refused to acknowledge the fact that androids were alive and in time would be their equals in the eyes of law. It lowered his spirit a bit.

Hank wasn’t having it, at all. He decided to take out the old Christmas decorations he had and invited you over to help decorate the house. It wasn’t even December, yet you rushed here.

This one was of Hank scolding him and his counterpart while they tried to put the star on the tree.

Monday, November 29, 2038

-Life is great, Connor and Nines just tried to put Sumo on the amazing (decorated by me) Christmas tree

Androids really are superior to us

He chuckled at your comment and continued. The photo was of him in a ‘casual’ suit that hank gave him. It was your first date since you asked him out. You were going to watch movies at your place.

Tuesday, February 14, 2039

-Taking this one because Connor looks nervous… and cute.

You snickered, “Do you remember how nervous you were? It was so adorable.” He shook his head, “Yes, my stress level was a bit high. You failed to mention the date would be in your apartment and not out before I borrowed this from Hank. I didn’t want him to feel bad about it and I ended up looking overdressed.”

You chuckled, again. “Well, you still looked perfect.” Your loved complimenting him and it always made his face heat up, he bit his lip and proceeded.

The next one was of him standing in Hank’s bathroom with his LED gone for the first time since his activation, it took a lot of courage to be able to let go of what he was made for, be it that little spinning device. You and Hank were with him every step of the way.

Sunday, April 3, 2039 -My boy is accepting himself

He teared up a bit, the support he got from you and the others was heart-warming, to say the least. He held your hand and gave it a quick peck.

The following one featured a hug between him and Hank. He had received gifts from both Connor and Nines, the former gave him a card with a heartfelt message while the latter gave him one that simply said, ‘You are an efficient parental figure.’ It was impressive since it came from Nines, who still struggled with his lack of a social program.

Saturday, June 19, 2039

-Father’s Day with our fav grumpy old man.

After that was him in shorts and a tank top from last month. He stood next to Sumo with a box of fireworks in his hands. He didn’t participate with the celebration since he wanted to make sure Sumo would be okay, you stayed with him.

Monday, July 4, 2039

-Happy 4th of July! Connor, your legs were made for these shorts- god bless Cyberlife.

That night did end up being… Interesting because of his choice in clothing. He did end up wearing them a bit more since then.

He flipped the page and realized the rest of them were empty. “I didn’t realize this was why you insisted on taking pictures of me with your polaroid camera.” You shrugged.

“It wasn’t in the beginning but… I wanted to capture those moments you know? Keep them with us forever.” You moved closer and snuggled with him, “You can fill it up if you want. I know you can see any memory you want anytime but… I guess this is just a sappy way of doing it.”

“No,” he interjected, “I appreciate your gift and the meaning behind it. I also wish to have many more pleasant memories with you and those around us.” You hummed with a smile then yawned. You put your head against his shoulder and soon drifted off.

He noticed your Camera on the table next to him, how convenient. He slowly reached for it and used it to take a picture of the two of you. You looked breath-taking to him, with your peaceful face and soft snoring.

Something about this felt… right. He felt like he finally belonged. Like he found his place, his family, his love. This was ‘it’ as some would say.

Monday, August 15, 2039 -I am happy.

#happy birthday connor #Connor x reader #Rk800 x reader #connor imagine #dbh #dbh imagine

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