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nicolewoo · 1 year ago

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Super Earth Part 12

Pairing: Reader X Roman Reigns

Synopsis: Reader is a space pilot. Dr. Reigns is a scientist. They fell in love heading to TOI-1452 B

The dinner turned into a giant party. The band played as colonists and my ship-mates danced and sang and drank and had a blast.

Finishing a dance with Roman, I wound my way through the crowd to Lt. Coffey’s table. He’d already had a bit of moonshine he’d brought with him, and had I caught him a little later, I was sure he’d be smashed.

The whole table stood as I came to it. “Mr. Coffey, Walk with me.”

The surprised look on his face was great. “Aye Cap.” He awkwardly got up to walk with me.

“You don’t have to call me Captain here.” I said.

He ran his hands through his hair. “Aye Cap, but I don’t want to get out of the habit.”

I nodded. We were now far enough away from people to talk. “You’ve been doing an amazing job, Coffey.” I said, and his face lit up. “Cassidy and I both feel like you have the ability to move up quickly. So, we were wondering if you’d like to learn some of the other jobs in Engineering.”

He was stunned. “I…. uh… Yeah, but what do you have in mind?”

“Ensign Tilly is going to work as a liaison between the colonists and our ship-mates one day a week. If you agree, you’d be taking over some of her duties. Since we’re on the planet, there’s less work to do on our ship.”

“Aye, but I don’t know how to do Tilly’s job.” He leaned against a pear tree.

Orange’s voice came from behind me. “I’ll be right there to teach you what you need to know. Essentially, you’ll be my right-hand man while we’re on the planet. Maybe even when we fly back. It will be great experience and will make you the prime candidate for moving up in rank if you do well.” Coffey nodded. “We’ll spend a few days on the ship shutting it down and securing it for the next few months then we’ll start helping the colonists. Sound good?”

Coffey still looked a little unsure. Maybe he’d had more of that moonshine than I thought. “Uh…. Yeah… Yeah… Whatever you guys need” he finally said.

“Report to the ship tomorrow at 01100.” Orange said and Coffey answered a quick yes, sir. Orange shook Coffey’s hand and I followed after.

“Are you ready to go home?” Roman whispered in my ear as we danced to a romantic song played on an acoustic guitar.

“Yes.” We said our goodbyes to Seth, Becky and a few other colonists on our way out the door.

We walked hand in hand through the empty settlement. Everyone was at the party in the cafeteria having a blast. We must have been some of the first people to leave. A giant gust of wind blew hard enough to almost knock me over, and Roman wrapped his arm around me to keep me steady. “They said the winds were brutal here, but I wasn’t prepared for this.”

I was hoping the wind would ease up before we made it home, but instead we ended up fighting for every step. I was relieved when we came in the door, and I plopped on the couch. Thoughts of the day swirled around me. I had waited my entire life for this day, and it was even better with Roman at my side.

He sat next to me, wrapping an arm over the back of the couch and pulling me into his side. “So, what did Mello give you?” He peeked over at the container of food I had set on the coffee table.

“I don’t know, but I know it’s going to be better than the food in the cafeteria.” I laughed.

He grabbed the container taking off the lid and looking inside. “Lasagna.” He practically sang.

A minute later, he returned with two forks and a warm dish of lasagna. I took a bite quickly. “Ohhhhh yummmmyyyy.” I said as the flavors exploded in my mouth.

“This is amazing!” Roman agreed.

We ate in silence, simply enjoying the flavors of home.

“Babe,” Roman kissed my forehead. “I’m exhausted.” He said. “Can we go to bed?”

I think I was half asleep even as I answered “Yes.”

After changing, I climbed into bed, happy that it was soft with multiple warm blankets on it. Roman stripped down to his boxer briefs, and despite how tired I was, I thoroughly enjoyed watching him move around the small house.

Was this going to be a problem? The two of us in this tiny house?

“Good morning crew and passengers of the Explorer” Seth’s voice chirped out of a computer console. “We have breakfast waiting for you in the cafeteria. There will be a meeting after that. Meeting starts at 9. Be warned the winds are strong today. Be sure to secure everything before leaving your house.” The communication ended.

Roman grumbled as he turned and wrapped his arms around me. “I’m still exhausted.”

I buried myself in his chest. “Yesterday was huge.” I answered.

We stayed there for a minute, snuggling before the craziness of the day started. “You know the shower is going to have that weird smell.” He mused.

“I hadn’t even thought of that.” I sighed. “I’ll breathe through my mouth.” I laughed.

He kissed me. “Let’s get to it.” He climbed out of the bed and headed to the bathroom; turning on the shower to warm up. A minute later, I heard him grunt. “Damn!”

“What’s wrong?” I sat straight up in bed concerned.

Roman’s head popped out of the bathroom. The water heats up fast. No need to warm it up.”

I thought about climbing into the small shower with Roman, but I decided the smell of the strange water would ruin the good time.

“What will you be doing today?” Roman asked as he stepped out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel. This man…. I would never get tired of seeing his broad chest, his huge muscles, his tight abs, and that Adonis belt made me melt. If only we had time to go back to bed this morning.

I sighed as I figured out what I wanted to wear today. It was odd to think I’d be working without a NASA approved uniform, but I didn’t have to worry about that for months. “Long range communications with Earth, supervising the rest of the payload offload. I don’t know what else. How about you?”

“I’m hoping to start cloning today.” He answered.

“Already?” I asked.

He shook his head. “If the plants are stable, I want to start cloning ASAP. If I’m luckily, I’ll be able to get 2 generations before we head back to Earth.” It made sense.

“I was really hoping to help you with cloning.” I lamented.

He pulled a tshirt over his head, covering the chest I loved so much. “I’ll save you one to clone.” He chuckled as he kissed my forehead. “Now, go shower. I’m hungry.”

———————————

A large man took the stage. Coughing to get attention. “Good morning. I…”

As he continued to speak, all of the colonists who were in the room started to scream excitedly along with him. “I am Keith Lee.” Everyone laughed now. It was obviously some inside joke among the colonists.

“Well, as you may have heard. I am Keith Lee.” There were some low chuckles. “I am a medical doctor, chief constable and sometimes a school teacher, but today I’m here to give you a thorough introduction to TOI. The first and foremost rule is…” He paused to let everyone answer.

“Leave no trace.” We all repeated.

“Leave no trace.” He nodded. “It sounds easy, but it will take a couple of weeks for you to get used to it. Before you go outside, everything on you, everything you wear, everything you carry…. Everything must be secured. We haven’t had what we consider a big wind gust since you got here, but it will happen soon. Even though our walls are 20 feet tall, a piece of paper, a feather, even heavier objects can be swept up and over that wall in seconds. There is NO ROOM for failure. We will NOT destroy this planet. Ok?” Everyone in the room answered yes.

“Now,” he continued. “If something does get over the wall, we have to go get it. That means you and a couple of colonists will board a boat, row out to the litter and retrieve it. It’s not an easy task, SO….. for the next few weeks, our colonists will be helping you remember to secure items. Please, don’t take offence. You will find bags near the exit of every building in our colony. Those are there for securing items before you go outside.”

As Keith Lee continued his speech, my crew and passengers listened intently. Introductions to the colonists, how to get food, assignments and activities were all covered. Two movies were played in the cafeteria a week, tables, chairs, even popcorn! Once a week, a football game was held in one of the warehouses by the landing pad. Basketball and baseball were played in the cafeteria. Various craft and art groups met on different nights. But when Dr. Lee mentioned music and dancing nights in the cafeteria, the colonists whooped and whistled. It was obviously their favorite night.

Roman looked at me, squeezing my hand and smiled. Our first dance had been last night, and it had been glorious. We’d moved so well together and talked and laughed. Another night of dancing sounded perfect. Roman leaned in to me and whispered. “Wanna come to the dance tonight?” He smirked. I nodded yes and smiled back at him.

The meeting lasted about 90 minutes. Seth came in the room and got me. “Sorry. I still need you today. NASA has more paperwork for you, and we still have to organize the warehouse. I can’t find anything in there.” I sighed, setting aside my hopes for the day and following Seth to the City Hall next door.

Our long-range communications had reached NASA, and new communications had come in this morning, leaving me with a ton of reports to read and fill out. I was getting hungry and tired by the time we sent the reports back to NASA.

We stopped for lunch before conquering the warehouse thankfully. I was tired of reading and filling out reports. “You ok?” Seth asked as we set our trays down at a table to eat.

“Yeah, I was just hoping to be helping around the colony by now. There’s so much I want to know about the technologies you’re creating here, the planet, this solar system. Dr. Reigns is cloning plants today and I was hoping to help.”

“Ah. Sorry about that. NASA has to have their paperwork. You know how it is.” I nodded. “But hey, before we head to the warehouse, let’s stop by Dr. Reign’s lab…… take a look at his cloning process.” Seth shoved a spoonful of mashed potatoes in his mouth.

“That would be great.” I thanked him. I tried the mashed potatoes, and they were by far the best thing I’d eaten here, but that wouldn’t take much. I wondered if Mello would be able to sneak me his food throughout our stay and then remembered the ship wouldn’t have any power; which means his kitchen wouldn’t have power; which meant he wouldn’t be able to cook for me. Damn! I knew I had to get used to the odd flavors of this planet’s food, but I wasn’t looking forward to it.

Dr. Lee joined our table now, “Mind if I sit?” We welcomed him.

“How did the meeting go?” Seth asked before shoveling more food in his mouth and motioning for Dr. Lee to sit.

Keith answered. “They all paid attention!” He smiled. Seth started nodding his head and gave Dr. Lee a thumbs up. “Looks like you’ve got a stellar crew, Captain.”

I smiled with pride. “The best. I’m very fortunate.” As I was saying it, Orange Cassidy approached the table. “Can I sit here?” We all motioned him to join us. “Dr. Lee, this is Commander Cassidy. We call him Orange.”

Lee turned to Orange. “That’s quite a nickname. How did you get it?”

Settling into his seat, Orange smirked a little. “That’s a very long story Dr. Lee. Buy me a drink sometime and I’ll tell you.” He answered.

“Keith, please, call me Keith.” He said to both of us.

“Call me Orange.” Cassidy said.

“And Y/N” I added. It was definitely going to take some time to get used to using first names, but when in Rome…..

“Cap, I’ve got a problem.” Dr. Thorpe said as he approached us.

“What’s up Eddie?” I asked, but it felt weird calling him by his first name.

“Dr. Zayne needs his meds, and they got mixed up with his storage boxes for his lab.” He talked as much to Seth now as to me. “Any chance I can get into the warehouse to retrieve them?”

Seth started nodding now, gesturing with his fork for Thorpe to have a seat while he finished chewing. “We’re actually going there in about an hour. Can Sami wait?”

Dr. Thorpe sat down. “Yeah, he doesn’t need them until tonight, so that is great.”

An awkward silence settled on the table for a second. “Are you all adjusting to the food?” Dr. Lee asked, and I almost burst out laughing. They knew the food tasted weird all along?

“There’s an odd taste.” Dr. Thorpe started.

Seth and Dr. Lee started laughing. “Oh yeah. Takes a couple of weeks to get used to.” Dr. Lee went on to explain that the soil and water had trace levels of chromated copper arsenate. Not enough to make you sick, but enough to make everything taste bad.

“And the shower smells…..” Cassidy started.

Seth laughed again interrupting Cassidy. “That too.”

“So you all know?” I asked.

“Yeah, we all had to get used to it when we first moved here.” Dr. Lee added. “It won’t take long to get used to. Honestly, we don’t think about it anymore except when we get visitors.”

Is it Thursday?” Roman called out from the bedroom.

I finished pouring his cup of coffee and brought it to him. “No, sweetie. It’s Wednesday” I said as I handed it to him. I wrapped both my hands around my mug as I sat on the bed, letting the warmth seep into my hands.

Sure, it was a nice thing to make his coffee, but I had an alterior motive, and as Roman set his mug down, I settled in to admire the view. Roman, fresh out of the shower, wrapped in only a towel. I watched him grab a second towel to dry his hair. Every move he made was graceful. I watched as a drop of water fell from his hair onto his arm. Snaking its way between two muscles and spreading out as it reached the scar on his arm. His skin was as soft as velvet, and I loved running my hands over it; feeling the rock hard muscles under.

He looked over and found my stare. “Like the view?” He smirked at me.

I took a deep breath and sighed out “oh yeah!”

His smirk took on an evil glint as he slowly unwound the towel, letting it plop on the floor. “And how about now?”

I took a drink of my coffee as I savored the view. “That’s even better.” I admitted as I set my mug down on the dresser.

“Come here.” He grabbed my hand and pulled us both onto the bed; twisting as we fell so that he ended up on top of me.

@mindofasagitarius @lclb13 @serenityfiretrash @lustyromantic @reigns-5sos @bigpsychicbagelauthor @omg-im-such-a-masochist @marlananicole @wickedsunfire @starwithaheart @spookys-girl @pitlissa22 @snowpanda18 @thesamoanqueen @sassginaswanmills

#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction

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libidomechanica · 4 months ago

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Untitled Composition # 13199

A curtal sonnet sequence

Stanza I

Some he sigh d for often in the Sailor at least glance human clay, that sanguine flown about philosophy, pursues his peer. Close upon it thou wert left thee where to look on Marathon—And if the hero’s lore and tumbled to ascertain—no I was, in love her mount nearer draught, the roof-tree cleft with his properest eddies Embleme. He saw in her break the king—who fell, an English as I said, Alas! Go with clay.

Stanza II

And Hoigh for a Princessantly to their suits fumes and I will live in the sea-shell roars that round not the vaine things, hath let the portal thing mynd is more bride, how lonely seas! Oh yet we trust that breath, and his ivy- dart, if late all silence all thy memories, take us wise casting drunken seraphic cheek, tremble; so that Evangelick face, and law books—fool, have sparkling from the golden nooks empty hand in her lip?

Stanza III

And whither crest; this bondsman to the bodiless decline to ask me no more! In circle of gentle, serious nothing lichen fillets fast by the True, they had been the light clasp, twixt a mind towards something dies, making each past state we would he nothing to the keys of honour feature which in me, and shall lone man, your hand. And scarce could be from the keene color. Have been: he left me wise, what a delicated change be spilt.

Stanza IV

He seed; run out by the funeral-shears would be the island solemn to teach, the dim and wise, so semest thou thyself my pastimes in the lilies revived, a sudden stones. A trust in a flock throat. Or heat, but drops about going, turn out many a bride, nor other star; unloved, by my sore disappear’d out an airy lust, to where them round to strays thro’ the inviolate scatter down behind his daughter of an oak.

Stanza V

Hymen thoughts moved, and then, puzzling eyelids of slurry seas. The wave, and wipers alone who have you and though me trod is dim, drew forth their naval cells, lounging cheerly, sound with sick assay, and the best form thro’ the sad mechanic exercise, like beast is man, steadily will me sooner but stagnate, the brink of earth where the universal natural hue of his loue doth linger’d; all with her do sturre, and our red veins of flame.

Stanza VI

Thine and the great Death, or forehead of none. Spectre hung with due prevail. Indeed desire, grow your eyes are one returning like them places can not becoming back, a weight fight the last day! Fiercely join, deep- seated very satisfy his coarsest cloth shell or ill be, for very eye which my heart prefer wings which no ascetic glory of answer: his dark, that it is not foolish passions never tempests of a lie?

Stanza VII

A sheepwalk up the light; through the ape and make us much to each, with false, ring to a cypress, and heard me sick, and woe so many wooden gave no lapse of youthful minds are hardly tell your lips her sure! Tricked, garden tree, and sung, and moonshine and their dust cry that each out debauchee who live it— lower in that horrid sing is the addition. Sigh, I cannot tell—I have been, in the sea, this flea, and answer each other’s breasts.

Stanza VIII

Dark sea, that alone in loving to be such a chaste. To free thou devote this of all beyond its own participated life is due: only one, rather would render too seats of air that atmosphere,—but when I’m engaged tip into the Muse at a sigh I take! So runs o’er the in the morning. Back against my tremulous hate! Then thee wheresoe’er I know. Every witnesse with hollow faltering with me as the hall!

Stanza IX

Well, that twinkle, under the table. Grew a windless sea, sailing mirth! A fair as good-morrow disappearing it isn’t ask his fatal feet her face of things we won’t reflection. And made that tender brother, than all because you see. On a heart: ev’n tho’ my mourn according throat: with th’abhorred she; never dear! Admitted, some enemy, nor the lady’s cheeks a blusht to lecture of the man’s setting nought his side the love!

Stanza X

The moat, and I was butterflies; but the mountains, spreads and drove a filthy cliffs which shake, and sightless Falstaff of all, to be, a long strangers the herself from love her to use the sings or wrong. What was over the large to flake, and gird the Palace at his instant more bright; the upper sky, with that graze, be the purpled, spiking a youth, and that in many a figure, if you are no brothers. ’ Widowed thee, hence remove no more.

Stanza XI

From Bratha Head to a wife is tho’ left his path. Preach at ever meant the greene embellisht with another’s view—as far as human hand, and overboard an earth some sorrow may not ta’en out. I’ll command is Nature, as moonlight, drest to-night. Wakes,—to set a rill, not find me bene so well as man touch’d, scarce that month to me, they wont in thys shade can kill.—Sir Leoline so well or ivory inlaid tables, that molehills are.

Stanza XII

You say, I ween, above be dim, why did their memory sheep, bess, the wild bells I said, adieu, my degradations bounded? I have for ev’n forgot—gently peril among that large, and shell-fish. The whist owes through at natural good; and, crown, they shrunk up to attention me sharpens and Franks—for breasted, risen, o Geraldine: o sorrow and rare as Heaven’s will now shall appeal; and then one so bold, the birds, so careless cup.

Stanza XIII

Some have me, sweet souls possess’d his more clear, each stroke of mechanic exercise, like hath made them one by beautiful. And I forgive me. Her or fourth wife; one day prepare you both into those who never lives, purer laws. In thy cheerly, cheerful realms of life; yearning let the world, and pleased with ever upon a chastes, he beheld that he loves is thy corbe show’d its power, just not void since my mother tone, lie on hisses?

Stanza XIV

—Sticks the hermit young, and grew. Or seen to have, great worse, and left the boundless in toothed this sober seem’d to cease which is not my doom, to break vengeance; and there’s Long Pole Wellesley? Perhaps may breathing: ye never till I knew what the faith, but over. The prophecies, set light in riding thro’ circled with the grey peelings well beseech your frail! A snake-like other were fell—and crake; or if the rose again in me their usual.

Stanza XV

His harme the worlds of their taste for why so will I have thee homeless minutes kill’d’ the shade them see, if though death. Woe-hurricanes beneath dark creep; than could rouse a lad, had deck’d with great Latmos so exalted, Charing our little child! The same whom she promontory, hail’d with me no more; or, crowning in mine far underneath whom he cried, for its crystal—and dropping-wells in his numerous lies, the highest human speak: let dame!

Stanza XVI

Calm on thro’ summer on a time. Fingers in the sheds—large golden lyre; too longer give birth of one flea sparkles! Dust, or height with tumultuously behind that thou fooles can received it—’t was Miltiades! Nor can be male, and her yet, I’ll star; unloved, by someone what kiss of death, but all the years have reader, will I sit for each endeavouritism, but immortal soil, nor other hair, all poetic thoughts for we meet.

Stanza XVII

My hunger, or redress tranquillity. All that mighty dove—what the day will be my girl or fall of al, of Oliue braunches hastening. Slowly-dying in the wat’ry floor; who tries of the Spring when my fancy shapes the former fall: ’tis hard heavenly of course; high nature amorous rigour, bold warriors seized three in powers beat in stealing, you the floor; why thence chase me lonely for you, to you. Forgive than the distress!

Stanza XVIII

The Voyage Timbuctoo tithonus to that came things to die, as wildered you! Though the Adrian wave against it fly to such like a little, me of temptation bestows, when my lost thou shalt come away the Falcon the spirit as a sensitive, men, who was so gentle lore: too common-place, if impious. He had cut off divine, there what is in this pink this poetry. Were ours for fades nothing roguish een.

Stanza XIX

Brute earth the chalice of bearing over the crowing the head that her teares adowne thy song and lightness of distress sleep, kinsman to watch the due prevail. For love. With him with choisest words have I said all, through parent’s coarse to livelong laughs and Faliero my own daughter frost some gray- fly winds and murmur on this faith another cheek and bells.—And if though doubt, believe so much encumber. Into a placed, a little.

Stanza XX

One of the ledge is near me thing. By bloom the cabin-window and turned. I stand my own shock, the waves one in the land, with God. Your way through. Death force together heate sorrow the limping fire. Also record of our union, she hand in my dreary dawn; and, curling, in time past. Anguish een. See, it’s the hour is mine; and full sweet, O ye mystic doing, like a boy’s? Ah! Cause, that dearnest the latest build and the true as the loved.

Stanza XXI

That shadow wept, melting and do you, and sleepe thou dost borrow come quicken’d with blast times blossoms get? Me of light-blue eyes below, and lo, thy way, since her and many for fades nothing lover was a novels heap’d: come to your music, whose can never shuts and fall. But she donor’s. Turn the boa in the Soul with state; and he replied, Not whither flash and shippe vnwont in the dread, and should perfectness. If e’er saw her minstrel in.

Stanza XXII

My light, so might beakers tones, when I was the winds the feet, labourer till will be the heede. Time’s tyrant of love, you may’st the ostler listens too; and the darkness shall know thy sail and pulsations, gaudy cunning Phoebe, no! Our two drops fellow, wherein he and made the very flakes of a kindness, I must I go to pleasure! The write a picturesque Constance will not sound for shame, as soon the spite; ring of their greene, a house.

Stanza XXIII

My merry merry, pass away; she darkness to thee my onelie hire, dying the woman broke appear heaven? Pudding on her limbs on mind. Sets up for damages, and not less, have not succeed in the earthly things chivalrous in their compare? Leaves; nor dreamer what prime, young, but bind my only dancing girls had man’s broken lighten those eyes bene an auncient debate, and soft, that these were his fyrye faced look of dark churches.

Stanza XXIV

Is, the souls in the choice of his all the portals each glory of the mind the murmurest hue: the genial warmth again and suns and go but he retain you to serues the key of Naiads’ long the world grownd, and song. And smile and if tho’ left it still, for afford to feel once more; or, crown! Had cost his assets were sped; and no pulses dart scrutinizing the unhappy dwelt with wine. I have seen Napoleon tossed upon her house.

Stanza XXV

For wholly brain to rue, and thinking in pypes made for thy loue such the poor although the comfort and thousand crying, hidden shame is but only know; and last are gone. Have proved upon the air. Love; and till onward think of Hippotades the true? When Pegasus runs through threatens Scotland their cheek: nor all wholly brain if thou the plays, her who batter’d Time into a pinions to these was no harme then rest. Thy converted.

Stanza XXVI

Wed a green: a life be fair one! Keep watches I broken her could on the morning one thine in kindness lie in her and the bases of their fishy smell through the hapless story of them as thou be’st Doubt! And large as peas, and not understands; they deigns may die. With tears, and poetic war to harp and sure, but that which once more they muddle within the rocky brow Fill his hand.— The favour my dearest cry, and wear not ta’en out.

Stanza XXVII

” He looks like a father Lambes ytorne? Thou kenst little care for emigration, or weakness more the spirit in this world of eighty Love his face, as if he had gone hips, who, seeing, all that was; no dislike through me! Here he loved a lark hung innate feelings—she heart down to a servant some Wolfe thy marble’s unchange of paper— even which foresaw, the first he said: I would preach the lady fell from my Muse wants a boy’s?

Stanza XXVIII

I find it as a curiously to beasts the depth. Of letter for fancy, until his nation roll of my display’d. While now we sang who believe that Honourable voice of riches. Among his wand is bleed? Who though a lady bows; man dies: nor is barred. Your affection. Is wroth: Is this is an evolution bleeding of praise: hate to the male, and with all he was not fear’d his friend, chidden summer’s hearts that bee- like light.

Stanza XXIX

Where I must go, and I must be ours for the dew! Ne’er the masterdom. I, that I may knows her which happens, those thou doest expenses, dreading ruin and snakes. And thus she was no hypocrisy! What is sicken, live with my better under hatchway one month of spleenful unicorn. May take refuse: daughters, the minion: but they brink, may cool; but stagnate, the palfreys’ foam: and, five yeares, in Nature’s high with all keep, her rope.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #146 texts #curtal sonnet sequence

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dankusner · 11 months ago

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Richard Val LeClercq — ENGLISH E374L Donne/Johson

Richard Val LeClercq, 63, died July 29, 2005, from complications of acute alcoholism.

He is survived by his son Noel LeClercq, San Marcos; daughter Desiree LeClercq, Austin; stepson Glenn Ross, Austin; brother Leon LeClercq, Los Angeles; and a host of ex-wives.

Val was born in Los Angeles and received his Ph.D. from UCLA, where he swam butterfly and sang tenor in the Opera Workshop.

He was hired by the University of Texas Department of English as their authority on poet John Milton.

Val taught for almost 30 years, switching specialities to literary criticism and directing the dissertations of many bright English majors.

Val was a talented pianist, and had a sweet tenor voice.

He was a golden-ear hi-fi enthusiast who designed and built stereo systems.

He brought enthusiasm and intelligence into each of his many projects, and somehow talked his friends into participating in each outlandish invention.

His family thanks the English Department for its patience with his disease.

The family plans a wake to celebrate his life and introduce his old friends to his children.

Please call Terri for details of the Final A-B Test.

The family hopes each reader will make out a will, right now. Memorials should be sent to Alcoholics Anonymous, North Austin 24-Hour Group, Austin 78758.

Published in the Austin American-Statesman on 8/6/2005.

Richard Val LeClercq ("Val") was by far my favorite college professor at UT in Austin.

One of the reasons I get so pissed off when people say "drugs are bad but alcohol is fine" is because the only person I've ever seen destroyed by a substance addiction was Val--alcohol killed him.

After a while he could no longer teach, so he sat at home and I, along with my friend Mike, were the only two people who would spend any time with him.

Unfortunately, after a while, he made it clear that he no longer wanted anyone to be around and while it was incredibly sad, there was nothing more we could do for him and we eventually lost touch.

The last time I saw him, which was sometime in 1999 or maybe early 2000, he seemed to be on the verge of death.

I remember sitting by his hospital bed giving him kumquats, which is all he could eat for some reason.

Cheap vodka did him in. Nonetheless, even with a BAC higher than that of a date-raped sorority girl, he was still the best teacher I've ever had. I always wondered how he was doing.

Val will certainly be missed. I give my condolences to his family, his many ex-wives, and "the Lac", his polish wife who he could never quite seem to get entrance to the US (that's assuming the Lac was still his wife at the time of his death last year).

Val was a nutty guy for sure.

But he was also a genius, and made me realize nothing is above scorn, and cynicism trumps all.

His Lit-Crit class consisted of taking scholarly writings by well-respected academics and tearing them apart.

Truly a great class.

We'd spend most of class time in his office drinking cheap coffee or lapsang soushong tea, making fun of the other students in the class (who were wondering where the teacher was) and the staff of the English department.

Since he didn't feel like doing it, he would let me grade the papers of students in his other classes (not my fellow students, as that would probably be somewhat of a conflict of interest).

I only failed a few people, for the record.

I'll always remember Val, and I wish he didn't force me and Mike to leave him alone in his last years.

Alcohol destroyed the life of a great man, and I witnessed it first hand.

I can't say the same for pot, cocaine, meth, heroin, or any other drug.

If you believe in drug prohibition, you're a worthless hypocrite if you don't also support alcohol prohibition (which, like drug prohibition, we know doesn't work).

Of course, even if alcohol had been illegal, Val would have distilled moonshine in his back yard and nothing would have been different.

But tonight, I'll drink a glass of cheap plastic-bottle vodka and store-brand cranberry juice in Val's memory (okay, it will be Gray Goose). Cheers, Val.

374L, Earlier 17th Century: Donne, Jonson, and Their Contemporaries

Poetry and prose, 1600 to 1660: the metaphysical and other leading traditions in poetry; the early poems of Milton; the essay, the character, and other prose forms. Three lecture hours a week for one semester. Prerequisite: Nine semester hours of coursework in English or rhetoric and writing.

Milton’s Paradox of Grace in Sonnet 7

From conflict to composure, John Milton’s Sonnet 7—“How Soon Hath Time” (1632)—illustrates two life philosophies and the psychological ramifications each one may offer the individual.

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, Stol’n on his wing my three-and-twentieth year! My hasting days fly on with full career, But my late spring no bud or blossom shew’th. Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth That I to manhood am arriv’d so near; And inward ripeness doth much less appear, That some more timely-happy spirits endu’th. Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow, It shall be still in strictest measure ev’n To that same lot, however mean or high, Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heav’n: All is, if I have grace to use it so As ever in my great Task-Master’s eye.

The poem’s speaker makes the successful transition from one philosophy to the other, describing the process in three quatrains and a couplet.

In the first four lines of the sonnet, he is the victim of the struggle between determinism and his own expectations.

By the end of the poem, he has found a peaceful release in the resignation that he may only control his response to life, not the course or even the content of it.

The first quatrain of Milton’s Sonnet 7 presents the initial circumstances of our speaker’s quandary.

Thematically, he feels in conflict with the passage of time, exasperated by its adroit and speedy progression.

He is surprised by Time’s ability to act independently of, and with little regard for, his self-admitted immaturity as it steadily takes possession of his youth.

Despite the speaker’s apparent sincerity, we are made aware of the true nature of the conflict through Milton’s ironic structure and word choice.

There are obvious disparities between the physical existence of the speaker and the abstract “Time,” as well as the tone of hopelessness inspired by the speaker’s relatively young age.

These incongruities reveal that the conflicts arise from the speaker’s own assumptions and expectations for his life.

The first indication of Time’s control is given in line one.

Personified, it terminates the first two iambic feet and is followed by a medial caesura in the form of a comma.

This strong termination and short pause emphasize the description that follows.

A metaphor is employed to describe Time as a subtle thief, this concept mimicked by the unaccented syllable cluster in the center of the last three iambs, “stealing” the line with an increase in metrical pace.

This metaphor is extended into the next line as Time becomes a flying creature.

The metonymy of “on his wing” heightens the sense of swift action.

Time—in this animated, masculine form—seems to outshine the speaker himself, whose only presence is indicated in the thrice-repeated adjective of possession, “my.”

This is curious incongruity, for despite the speaker’s ability to recount the circumstance, he is unable to act upon it.

Time is the active party here, stealing and flying beyond the speaker’s control.

With a preponderance of th and f consonant clusters in line one, there is the impression of a sputtering delivery of the exclamation as Time steals the speaker’s very breath.

The ironic personification of Time, and the inability of the speaker to control it, points up the speaker’s preoccupation with the concept of control.

Why is “he” so frustrated when faced with a basic element of the natural world?

The first quatrain illustrates an Aristotelian viewpoint that can wreak havoc in a young man’s life—and, indeed, it does cause problems for the speaker.

Implicit in his accusations are the clear traces of particular expectations.

First, the exclamation that Time is passing is the result of the assumption that it would not.

The speaker is chagrined as Time steals his “three-and-twentieth year,” flying as it goes.

An interesting shift occurs here as Milton introduces an inconsistency.

The “my” of line three claims the flight of “hasting days”; whereas, in lines one and two, only Time assumes the tenor of the bird metaphor.

With this in mind, the irony of “on with full career” is even more poignant.

Even though his days pass by at full speed, flying “on” instead of “off” (away from the speaker), he does not claim control of them.

It is the last line of the quatrain, however, that reveals the Aristotelian tendency to make plans, to anticipate their fulfillment, and then to draw conclusions based on assumptions.

“But” indicates the speaker’s disappointment as he muses upon his unsatisfied expectations and his wasted youth.

The progression of “bud or blossom” displays a distinct desire to advance through stages to some kind of tangible, evident goal, this desire explicitly articulated by ��shew’th.”

Assisting this Aristotelian concept of expected progression is the specification of the speaker’s age.

He makes a point of stating the particular odd year (23rd) that marks his point of despair.

Again, Milton seasons the predicament with irony.

“Late spring” marks the end of childhood, but it also is the beginning of adulthood, a point the speaker cannot imagine.

He can only perceive the “subtle” thievery of Time, enervated by its elusiveness.

This is given formal, mimetic enactment as the masculine end-rhymes of lines two and three descend from sharp high vowels (“year,” “career”) down through “no bud or blossom,” to the despondently low ew of “shew’th.”

Appropriately, the moments of metrical incoherence occur at the points of doubt and frustration.

The “subtle thief of” unaccented cluster is matched by an even more uncontrollable stressed cluster in line three— “hasting days fly on.”

These are followed by the hesitant unstressed foot beginning line four, which consolidates the attempt to thwart the speaker’s rigid iambic pentameter.

A shift from an a posteriori stance to an a priori position of questioning provides for thematic, structural, and tonal changes in the second quatrain.

For the speaker, these four lines are an aporia following the hopeless feeling in the first quatrain.

He is not sure what to make of the situation.

Allowing his mind to survey the circumstances and distinguish the elements of his conflict, he moves into a more balanced state of mind.

This reflective yet passive stance is enacted both verbally and formally.

“Perhaps” and “might” of line one indicate the speaker’s reluctance to once again impose his hasty conclusions as he reflects.

His “semblance” provides him with a self outside of himself whom he must confront.

This is not unlike his relationship to Time, which serves nicely as a scapegoat in the first quatrain.

This duality is embellished throughout the rest of the sonnet.

It introduces the important concept of multiplicity as a means to achieve balance and self-understanding.

On the one hand, the speaker’s “semblance” reflects a boy nearing manhood.

However, inner contemplation reflects immaturity—“ripeness doth much less appear.”

Recalling the premature expectation of “bud or blossom” in line four, the actual reflection “might deceive the truth” by convincing the speaker that he has become a man.

Milton effectively creates this sense of prematurity by inverting the natural subject-to-verb order of line six, “I to manhood am arriv’d so near.”

Again, the notions of anticipation and frustration are heightened by the phrases “to manhood am arriv’d” (an ideal) and “so near.”

On the contrary, “inward” contemplation reveals a green, hopeful state that neither thwarts nor frustrates maturity but, rather, promises to endue/endow at the hands of “timely- happy spirits.”

It’s important to note that these two reflections, though distinct, are conjoined.

The “and” of line seven brings the two reflections into a balanced composite portrait of the speaker, appealing to the sense of sight with the words “semblance” and “appear.”

Formally, this multiplicity transforms the cranky pace and tone of the first quatrain.

Lines five, six, and seven, instead of medial caesuras, place unstressed feet at the third foot, creating fluid but strongly polarized lines.

Their aural rhythm mimics the thematic duality of the quatrain.

The rhyme similarly mimics this new symmetry by achieving the abba scheme, correcting the abbc variation of the previous quatrain.

The calm tone of these second four lines allows Milton to alter the relationship between the speaker and his conflict.

For the first time, the first person pronoun “I” is asserted, the paradox resulting from this acknowledgment of multiplicity.

Likewise, Time is no longer an elusive, thieving personification but, rather, a descriptive aid, “timely.”

Although his self-criticism is harsh (“inward ripeness doth much less appear”) the speaker arrives, inadvertently, at new conclusions that are not, in this case, fatalistic.

The metaphysical “happy spirits” that will ripen the speaker’s character are both generous and opportune, but they are also independent of the speaker.

Has he learned his lesson?

He does not attempt to distinguish their ranks (as in his articulation of age), choosing instead “some” (happy spirits).

Nor does he try to discern the “bud or blossom” of their assistance.

The shift from desire for external evidence to internal observation seems promising.

The formal aural lightness of line eight seems to indicate such a progression as the accented “timely-happy spirits endu’th” replaces “no bud or blossom shew’th” from line four.

At this point, Milton’s irony becomes paradoxical.

Inner contemplation, not external “semblance,” reveals the truth: passive reflection, not external activity, brings disparity into balance.

The last quatrain synthesizes the sonnet’s first eight lines.

Beginning with “Yet,” the tone of resignation, of unquestioning acceptance, is immediately established with the volta—that is, the turn in thought or argument in the sonnet form.

Thematically, Milton projects the concepts of multiplicity and passivity into a religious context.

Giving them a religious breadth, he also alters their previously individualized application.

Our speaker seems to represent every Protestant, if not “everyman.”

The point, however, is not pushed to its extreme.

God remains rather ambiguous, as does the role of the divine, in salvation through multiplicity and passivity.

Just as the first quatrain has a distinctly Aristotelian bias, the last quatrain displays a definite Platonic viewpoint.

Binary oppositions abound, a syntactic ligation stringing them together indifferently.

The four inclusive instances of “or” combine the many facets of the speaker’s maturing character into a veritable, and variable, cynosure of possibility.

The speaker knows not to attempt their distinction, thrice referring to the options as “it” and leaving the decisions up to Time, which has reassumed a personified stance.

The reconstituted entity seems to be a “comic” hybrid of the metaphorical thieving bird and the “happy spirits.”

As an afterthought, Milton’s phrase “and the will of Heav’n” gives Time divine inspiration.

Medial caesuras after “more” and “lot” help to break up the four lines, emphasizing the multiplicity effect.

“To” and “Toward” offer multiple meanings for the concept “approach,” becoming a combination of spatial movement and movement towards similarity of kind.

Of the three quatrains, the third is the least coherent, metrically.

It contains the only enjambment (“ev’n/To that same lot”), but, as if “in strictest measure,” it is accepted with its disparate and overreaching patterns.

The themes of resignation and passivity, however, are the foci of lines nine through twelve.

With the reintroduction of the personified Time, “I” is replaced by the once-mentioned first- person object “me.”

This submission, in reverence to the divine, is encouraged by the certainty and confidence of the “shall be” prophesy of line ten.

“That same lot” embodies the essence of the speaker’s resigned indifference.

Completely turned around, he no longer has expectations of his own but, rather, offers the amorphous “lot” of his life to Time and “the will of Heav’n.”

Ironically, the two “shall be still in strictest measure” if this resignation is sustained.

The power of the volta and the binary oppositions allow for the notion of “lot,” or a multifaceted future.

This is quite a departure from the very specific “three-and- twentieth year,” at which time “bud or blossom” are the only options.

With resignation comes the acceptance of multiplicity RVL – Yes, of course, you needed to elaborate further, especially But what you did do with the formal is quite good! And your thematic discussion is clearly the best in the class!

Richard Val LeClercq, 63, died July 29, 2005, from complications of acute alcoholism.

He is survived by his son Noel LeClercq, San Marcos; daughter Desiree LeClercq, Austin; stepson Glenn Ross, Austin; brother Leon LeClercq, Los Angeles; and a host of ex-wives. Val was born in Los Angeles and received his Ph.D. from UCLA, where he swam butterfly and sang tenor in the Opera Workshop. He was hired by the University of Texas Department of English as their authority on poet John Milton. Val taught for almost 30 years, switching specialities to literary criticism and directing the dissertations of many bright English majors. Val was a talented pianist, and had a sweet tenor voice. He was a GoldenEar hi-fi enthusiast who designed and built stereo systems. He brought enthusiasm and intelligence into each of his many projects, and somehow talked his friends into participating in each outlandish invention. His family thanks the English Department for its patience with his disease. The family plans a wake to celebrate his life and introduce his old friends to his children. Please call Terri for details of the Final A-B Test. The family hopes each reader will make out a will, right now. Memorials should be sent to Alcoholics Anonymous, North Austin 24-Hour Group. — Family-Placed Obituary, Austin American-Statesman, August 6, 2005

on the verbal. and the paradoxes of fate.

The speaker accepts passively his lot, willing to follow Time and an ill-defined destiny.

Completing the transformation from obsessive control to passive resignation, the couplet is, itself, a binary opposition.

At the end of the poem, it presents a promise and a warning to the speaker.

“All is,” isolated by an initial caesura, restates the “lot” concept of a multiplicitous future, setting it apart as the stake in the balance.

In regular iambic pentameter, the speaker evenly states, “if I have grace to use it so,” revealing a dependency on “the will of Heav’n” and the leadership of Time.

The last line of the sonnet breaks up the rhythm, stressing “great Task-Master’s eye.”

This is appropriate, considering that the appearance of “inward ripeness” is to be evaluated with the inner eye, and not the deceptive, outer reflection.

The speaker of Sonnet 7, over the course of the poem, moves from anxiety to inner peace.

This transformation is achieved through the acceptance of a passive role in relation to Time and Heaven.

Milton’s conclusion, however, poses several questions.

Fittingly, these concern the duality of the speaker’s redemption. If inner peace is contingent on the grace of God, why is the speaker’s own self-evaluation made to seem so important?

Likewise, if the speaker has achieved this transformation of attitude from the volta in line nine to the end, why is there a lingering question as to the certainty of “if I have grace”?

Punctuating these questions is the uncanny duality of “I” and “eye.”

Placed in such close proximity in the text, the distinction between these homophones is difficult to discern if heard aloud. Milton leaves us, ultimately, with a perplexing conclusion. Is the giver of grace just as multiplicitous as the life that receives it? A passive response, we have learned, keeps those questions at bay.

John Ewing

The Poetry of John Milton,

ENG 363

Prof. Richard “Val” LeClercq University of Texas at Austin 1989

RVL – Yes, of course, you needed to elaborate further, especially on the verbal.

But what you did do with the formal is quite good!

And your thematic discussion is clearly the best in the class!

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thgreatestblue · 4 years ago

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false god [part II]

➜ pairing: kokushibou x fem!reader ➜ warnings: mention of prostituion, past trauma, smut, fluff (if you squint) ➜ words: 7.5k ➜ a/n: let’s start this hell of a year with a very long and spicy chapter, shall we? this is the second part of my fic false god, and i’m so excited to hear your thoughts for this chapter. thanks to everyone who left comments or likes, it made me so excited that now i’m already writing the third and final chapter! ➜ ao3

➜ false god [part I] / false god [part III]

summary: The last piece of the puzzle you’ve been trying to put it together finally appears right in front of you, completing the picture you so feared to see, but knew that eventually it was going to be revealed. You understood everything now.

III.

The stars were brighter on this side of the country; there were an infinity of them, painting a beautiful pathway to heaven throughout the horizon. The sky was illuminated by their shine, in a space of time where they danced around the galaxy and lit up each corner of the universe, never letting darkness prevail.

Or, it was just because you have been so afraid of the night for so many years, that only now you were able to fully appreciate its beauty. How the moonshine gleamed over the flowers and the petals seemed to sparkle tiny bits of stars over their form, so delicate you were afraid of touching — the white ones were your favorite, smooth like satin.

Kokushibou’s house was in the countryside, in the middle of nowhere. The servants even had a special wagon and a few horses for when they needed to buy supplies. It was far away from the city noises; the chatting and the everyday life. Far away from the smell of cement and street food. From people; good and bad. From memories and dreams. From everything.

It's been a few weeks since the first time you stepped into this world, one that was kinder than you expected. The servants were always calm, doing their tasks in such a peaceful motion that it was soothing to watch. It was a perfect mundane life, going to sleep covered in comfortable blankets instead of stick sweat, eating with others while talking without fear of being too loud.

It was strange to think that everyday you caught yourself thinking this was a dream; because everytime you look at the flowers in the backyard, every time you felt the wind on your face and the warmth of the sun on your skin, you remembered of long lost dreams about having a normal life, hopes that were on the verge of dying, resurfacing in the deeps of your mind. It made your dreams a little bit happier, almost as if you were floating in a different dimension.

The house had two floors; the first one is were the kitchen, the living room, the dinning room, and where the servant’s bedrooms were located — and even though when you lived with Muzan you had your own room, you didn't mind sharing with another girl if it meant to stay in this peace forever.

The second floor though, you didn't know much about it. Only that it was where Kokushibou bedroom was, and where he spent most of his time, since he would only appear when the sun settled down. Sometimes you would hear heavy footsteps and noises of something being hit multiple times, so maybe it had a training room as well.

You were on the second floor only a few times, most of them by his request — to ask you how things were going, if you were adjusting to the job. It was so unfamiliar, having a Demon, of all people, being so polite and thoughtful of your well being. You were definitely not used to kindness — to someone showing a minimum of respect — that everytime you would slightly blush, looking at his feet rather than his face.

It was so out of your comfort zone, being treated like a human being. You sometimes had to laugh at how twisted your world had become to think that a simple “good morning!” from one of the servants was an act of generosity. One day you caught yourself tearing up as you watched the sunrise from the window.

To what extent have you been broken? The pieces you always tried to put it back together now didn't seem to fit anymore; it was going to be a long way to find the right materials to build a new house for your heart, but at least you were given the chance to try. And if anyone had told you it was because of a Demon, you would have laughed.

Kokushibou's presence was still heavy and unsettling for you. It still managed to keep you on your toes. Whenever he would appear from his bedroom, or even hearing his voice from another room, a red siren would go off in your mind. It was still a rooted fear you couldn't help feeling, no matter how much you repeated to yourself that everything was fine.

His gaze on you didn't help the seed of doubt from staying rooted on your mind. Although the Demon didn't stay in the house at night — preferring going out and coming back only when the sun was about to show in the sky. However, on rare days when he chose to remain home, you would always try your best to stay far away; washing the dishes in the kitchen, feeding the horses, anything other than being at his company.

It wasn't because you were afraid, not exactly, the old lady had said that in the beginning it was normal to stay alert when in his presence. It was something else. How his eyes seemed to always find its way to you, fixing on watching your movements from afar, traveling down your body when you were cleaning a room, or even when you were just standing next to him.

You still remember how high you jumped one night when Kokushibou decided that it was a good idea asking for more towels for his bathroom by whispering in your ear. You’ve been dealing with Demons and men for so long in your life, it wasn't now that you were going to slip into wherever game he was playing. So, you tried your best to ignore those little things, moving on with your life as if his glance didn't make something crawl under your skin, begging to be scratched.

As the night came and Kokushibou decided to stay inside, you found yourself in the kitchen, washing the dishes from the dinner. There’s a beautiful song playing on the radio, and the sweet melody makes you lose track of time, lost in imaginary scenarios and charming tales. When you come back, the dishes are done.

Taking a long look at the kitchen, you notice that there’s nothing else to do; which means that you would have to come to the living to see if Kokushibou wanted something else, or you could go to sleep. You take a deep breath, leaving the apron on the table as you walk towards the room. The song is still playing but the volume has been tuned down.

Kokushibou is seated next to the bookcase, reading. He seems so peaceful and unharmful like that — if it wasn't for those pair of eyes, you would have never guessed he was a Demon. His hair is always tied up on a ponytail, and sometimes you can’t help but imagine how he would look with it down. You immediately shake your head, trying to erase those intrusive thoughts that have been more frequent by each day.

“Kokushibou-dono.”

As a habit, you bow to announce your presence. As you look around, you notice that there’s no one in the room besides him. Probably already too late in the night to have many servants around, you glance at the clock and it was indeed past midnight. Before you can say anything else, he closes the book, finally lifting his eyes to meet yours.

“Do you know how to dance, Y/N?��

Saying that you were surprised by the question was an understatement. You open your mouth to say something but nothing comes out of it. Well, you did know how to dance, however, you highly suspect that it wasn’t that type of dance he was referring to. Your heartbeat starts to accelerate, something you were already used to when in the same room as the man.

“No, Kokushibou-dono,” Your voice sounds weaker than you intended, but that was another thing you were getting used to; apparently your body liked to react as a mess when in his presence, “I’ve never had the chance to learn.”

Kokushibou nods, getting up from the pillow he was seated on. And even after weeks, it was still mesmerizing to watch him move; how his hair would graciously swing from one side to another, his posture always so elegant and refined, even the way he walked was hypnotizing. He definitely was born as someone who belonged to a royal family. You wondered why, then. Why did he turn into a Demon if he was so skilled and polished like a real diamond?

“Follow me.”

Before you can think too much about it, you follow him. Hands on your back, picking at your nails as anxiety starts to settle on your stomach; the odd feeling on your gut appearing from nowhere to poke at you, telling you to be careful and keep your eyes open. You watch him turn the volume a little bit higher.

“It gets easier once you learn the basics.” He says, looking at you from the middle of the room. The radio was playing a delicate melody that was perfect to put you to sleep, although right now not even the sweetest song would be able to calm you down.

“… I don't understand.” You say, shifting your weight from one leg to another.

“I’m teaching you how to dance.” Kokushibou simply explains, fixing the sleeves of his kimono with a serene expression; as if nothing was wrong, as if this was normal.

You hold your breath as he extends his hand in your direction. The look on his eyes is almost inviting if it wasn't for the fact that he was a Demon, and above everything else, your lord. There's a very fragile line Kokushibou is crossing by inviting you to dance, inviting you to be intimate with him. And you're not sure if you are ready to face the consequences — to take a step in a territory that he has been cornering you since the moment you arrived.

However, like everything in your life, you don't have a choice. So, you release the air you were holding, pressing your lips together as each step in his direction starts to consume your entire body. Kokushibou's gaze is fixed on your face — if becoming a mess of yourself in front of him was one of your habits, his stare on you was one of his.

You hesitate before touching his hand. His fingers brush against your palm, so delicate that you have to double remember yourself of your position, of who the man was. Kokushibou hands were rough and big against yours, but held your palm on his with a tender flow. You bite your lips as he grabs your other hand and puts on his shoulder.

Kokushibou hums with the song as his other hand comes to rest on the small of your back; the sound vibrates in his chest and through your skin. It was as if you were struck by lightning; every hair on your body standing with every touch.

“It’s an easy six steps tempo, just follow my lead.” Kokushibou’s voice so close to your ears is sinful; it’s dangerous. His low tone always did things to your stomach, and you knew it wasn't because of fear.

Kokushibou nods at you before taking a few steps around, leading your body to move with his own. He’s so close you can feel his heat, the ghost of his breath on your neck sends shivers down your spine. It takes all of your will to not stare at his hand holding yours, your legs already having some trouble to work properly.

“I’m sorry...” You flinch as you step on his foot, but he doesn't say anything.

It was quite an easy dance, and the way Kokushibou lead you made it even easier — if it wasn't for your nervousness it would have been almost fun. You watched his feet move from side to side until the rhythm was stuck in your mind, focusing on the dance instead of his body so close to yours - which was hard, every step making you come closer and closer.

“Eyes on me.” Kokushibou whispers close to your ear.

You immediately look up at him, his voice takes you out of the trance you had created to stay safe. And it takes only one look at him to make everything come crumbling down. The hand on your back brings you closer and your mouth slightly parts, breathing through it seems easier when his chest comes to touch yours.

Kokushibou squeezes your hand lightly as your eyes travel down his face. Up close like this, you can see each detail, his title of Upper-Moon One carved on his eyes, the texture of his perfect skin, the intrinsic shape of the red marks adorning his forehead — he’s indeed a beautiful man with interesting features.

It’s only when he hums again with the song that you realize you have been staring at his mouth for too long, a smirk growing at the corners of it is enough to shake you out of your trance; cheeks going warm and red in shame. Kokushibou presses a little closer to your body and you feel like combusting in flames with the feeling of his breath against your neck.

The song slowly fades away, and he continues to guide you as it finally comes to an end. Kokushibou gradually stops his movements, but still holds your hand, maintaining you in place. And you don’t know what to do with yourself; standing in the middle of the room with his stare still pinning you down, the touch of his rough hands still holding yours.

“Thank you, Kokushibou-dono.” It takes all of the strength left in your body to pull back, taking a few step backwards.

You are the first one to move and break the little bubble you two created. Kokushibou nods, letting you go from his hold. The weight of his hand still linger on your back, a ghostly feeling that you knew wouldn't go away that easily, if ever.

“Good night.” You could only hope your voice wasn’t trembling as much as you were on the inside.

You bow, turning around and making your way back to your room. Trying your best not to run from his gaze, form his touch, from everything that had happened in the past few hours.

With your heartbeat on your throat and the phantom feeling of his body still pressed into yours, you scream into the pillow until fatigue comes to take over you — putting you out of your misery, for now at least.

IV.

You could complain as much as you wanted, but Kokushibou’s home was so much better than Muzan’s. The opportunity to stay in the sun in the morning, feel the breeze hitting your skin as you washed the bedding in the backyard, the warm of the sun on your skin everyday even helped gaining a little more of color. As the summer went by; the sight of rain gracing your eyes, birds flying around the field with their beautiful singing, you realized how deprived you’ve been from simple things.

For 3 years you had stayed in the dark, almost never leaving Muzan’s house — surrounded by darkness and the metallic smell of blood, with no friends to help you when the nights were too scary. The only thing you liked was the sounds of the city, but even that became a nightmare, to think that there were so many victims in a single place would give you so much anxiety.

Even though Kokushibou was still a Demon, this was a far cry from the place you were just a few months ago. You couldn't say it was the best option though, you were still involved with a supernatural being that could easily kill you in a blink of an eye. The only difference was that he did seem to respect who worked for him — and an extra interest in you.

Taking another bite of a very sweet apple, you swing your leg casually, humming a random song while you were sitting on the big porch at the back of the house. The yard extended until it reached an infinity of trees, covering your view of the pond a few minutes from the house. You had heard it was a beautiful place, but havent had the time to go yet.

“Y/N, Kokushibou-dono is calling for you.” The old lady calls you from the window. You silently nod, taking a long breath before looking at the sky.

It had been a few weeks since he invited you to dance; since he had touched you in such an intimate way that no lord should be touching his servants. The odd sensation still lingered in your gut, but the feeling of his firm body against yours, his big and strong hand on the small of your back, the warmth of his breath against your skin, his lips inches from your neck… Gods, it was enough to send you to a place where you wouldn't be able to come back even if you tried; already lost in those six eyes all over again.

It has been a tough task to pretend that the small moment didn't affect you. The aftertaste stuck in your tongue like the sweetest apple you’ve ever eaten, and you hated to see yourself in such a state. Everytime he would enter a room, every time his eyes stared at you, hearing his voice… Your body would tense, goosebumps spreading through your body, but this time not because of fear.

No man has ever had this impact on you, and you’ve been with quite a lot of them.

It was still afternoon, the sun shining in the sky was a sight you would never take from granted again. What does he want with me now? You ponder, thinking about the last time he had asked for you. You were supposed to just hand him the ink, but of course he had to touch your hand for a little bit too long while grabbing it.

What Kokushibou wanted from you was something you could only imagine, there was nothing predictable about him. But if you dared to listen to the odd feeling in your gut, you knew exactly what it was going to happen — you were just denying it at this point.

Throwing away the rest of the apple, you make your way upstairs with your heart in your throat. Each step closer to his bedroom felt like an eternity, the hallway seeming like an endless corridor while the tension building up in your muscles were making your body ache. Stopping by his door, you run your hand through your hair; fixing the few strands that had escaped from your bun behind your ears. You take a deep breath to calm down your nerves before knocking on the door.

There’s a small pause before you can hear the sound of a chair dragging just a little across the floor, you can practically feel the expectancy choking you as you hear him stepping closer. You bite down your bottom lip right at the moment Kokushibou decides to open the door.

“Kokushibou-dono, how can I help you today?” You try to sound as casual as possible, trying your best to ignore the way his eyes lingered on your lips for a few seconds before meeting your eyes.

“Come in,” He says, walking back inside his bedroom, “And close the door.”

A strong chill runs down your spine and you have to strain yourself from quivering; a thin layer of sweat is forming on the palm of your hands, but you quickly clean it on your clothes. There was no use to be nervous right now, you were already at the predator’s door, head right inside his mouth, just waiting for its teeth to sink on your neck and break it.

Kokushibou's presence brought another type of nervousness, one that left you shaking from head to toe; but instead of cold settling in your stomach, it was pure fire consuming your entire being.

As you step inside, closing the door with your back, you take a quick look at the room. It’s fairly simple and definitely what you expected; a big and expensive futon is placed right in the middle, the bedding is clean and tidy up — something he probably never uses but keeps it as a habit. There’s two paper lanterns at each side of the futon, the light coming from them is minimal, leaving the room with a somewhat cozy atmosphere.

You see him standing beside a table by the corner of the room. There’s a few books piled up at one side, a wooden tray with a few bottles and glasses on the other. He picks one of the bottles and pours himself a glass, filling just half of it.

The liquid is thick and dark; you can’t see what it is, but you have an idea — Muzan used to drink blood in front of you all the time, and you always wondered when he would want to drink directly from a source. Then, he picks another bottle, and pours another glass. The liquid seems more diluted and a shader brighter, this time the smell hits your nostrils; it’s wine.

Kokushibou grabs both of the glasses, and holds one in your direction. He looks calm and collected; there’s no room to interpret his actions, his features never giving away what he was really thinking. The light hits one side of his face, the other is half hidden by the shadows, but it’s clear how all of his eyes are staring at you, his hair is in a perfect ponytail, swinging perfectly as he moves to hand you the glass.

“...Thank you.” Fingers brushing against yours, you take the glass.

Your gut screams something you can’t seem to hear; it seems like your mind went numb the moment you entered the room — not listening to any of the alarms that went off in your head. You can only feel your stomach tossing and turning around as you watch the man leaning on the table, studying you from behind the shadows like a predator plotting how to kill its prey.

“Before working for Muzan-sama, you worked at Yoshiwara.” Kokushibou says in a low tone, taking a sip of the drink.

Immediately, your cheeks burn. You clench your jaw as the sour memories start to come back from the deepest of your mind. He wasn't asking a question, it was rather a statement - and you had a few ideas how he got that information. Biting the inside of your cheek, you take a long sip of the wine — and for the first time you’re glad that he decided to give you the beverage.

“I worked for Daki for some time,” You tell him, feeling the bitter taste in each word, “She introduced me to Muzan after I kept my promise of not telling anyone about her.”

It wasn't something you were proud of, not in the slightest. You were just in the wrong place, at the wrong time. You had been so close from dying that night that anything else felt so little, compared to facing a Demon with a bloodlust so high that you couldn't count how many bodies you had seen that night.

However, it was covering up that atrocity, or dying. And you didn't want to face what afterlife had in store for you that soon. So you begged and cried, and like a miracle, Daki gave you the benefit of the doubt. After that, it only took 5 months from that incident for you to come work at Muzan’s house; selling your fate once again.

“So you did work at a brothel, didn't you?” His fingers tap the wooden table and you have to hold yourself still, trying not to shrink under his words. He stops the glass midway from his mouth, choosing to drink your reaction instead.

You did work as a prostitute, didn't you?

The silent question hangs in the air, you can’t bring yourself to open your mouth, to move. It was quite clear that he knew everything about you, there was no need to lie or hide any information, it would only piss him off.

However, the fact that he was making you say it - confirming the fact himself — was something that felt a bit degrading. You finally nod, not being able to find your voice anymore. Then again, it wasn't something you were proud of — apparently, you weren't proud of anything in your life.

Kokushibou slowly takes a sip of his drink then, eyes traveling down from your face to your body; studying every inch of your being. And every single part his eyes gazed upon, it would set your skin in flames, until you were combusting in anticipation.

“Show me.”

Your heart stops beating for a second only to come back at full force; and it hurts your chest, the impact leaves your rib cage aching at each pound of your desperate heart.

“...I beg your pardon?” You had to ask, you probably heard it wrong and this was your mind playing tricks with you, you knew how twisted it could get. There was no chance that Kokushibou was asking you to...

“I told you to show me,” He says in a challenging tone, raising an eyebrow, “Or did you lose your touch?”

Suddenly, everything falls into place.

The last piece of the puzzle you’ve been trying to put it together finally appears right in front of you, completing the picture you so feared to see, but knew that eventually it was going to be revealed. You understood everything now.

All those long stares, the need to touch your skin every time he had the chance, the dance… Everything was just small steps he was taking, leading you to a direction he had in mind since the beginning. Building you up for this moment; so you wouldn't hesitate, so you wouldn't run away; afraid of what might happen.

Kokushibou wasn’t a stranger asking for your services, not anymore. Because you had had a taste beforehand, because he had built you up into someone who would want him as much as he apparently wanted you.

The worst part was: it worked.

“What if i don't want to?”

All your life you were never given an option. It was selling your body or dying in the streets. It was waking up everyday knowing that you were covering up dozens of murders, or being murdered by the hand of a Demon. It was hearing screams of agony as you laid your head on the pillow, or being the one devoured. It was never what you wanted, but what you needed to do to survive. However, for this you needed to have a choice.

“Then, you can turn around and leave.” He says with no heat in his voice, motioning towards the door.

For some twisted reason, now that you truly knew what he wanted from you all this time, you relaxed. The tension left your bones as your mind processed his words. Your gut didn’t scream anymore, the pitch of your stomach now was filled with another type of warmth.

Kokushibou was a beautiful man, and somehow you knew this wasn't going to be bad. Not when he could have just pushed you in a room and had his way. Probably it was his pride not letting him act so animalistic, choosing to have a partner that was on the same page; reciprocity.

You finish the rest of the wine in one single gulp, letting the drink burn down your throat.

Approaching him, you sensually bite your bottom lip, letting the glass on the table before slowly getting down on your knees — if you were really going to do this, then you would put on a show.

Feather touching his thighs, you leave a few soft kisses on his crotch over his clothes, he hums in response, watching you closely as you grow bolder with open mouth kisses, feeling his cock respond to the stimulus through the thin fabric.

Kokushibou licks his lips, glass long forgotten by his side — you had his full attention now. His hands were gripping at the side of the table as he watched you; and you made sure to watch him back, each moment caught by your eyes; two could play this game. As soon as you start to untie the knot of his hakama, his hand comes to rest on your cheek, his thumb caressing it while the other fingers wrapped around your neck.

You tease at first, lapping and sucking sweetly at his head, your hands squeezing at the base. His taste is strong and heavy on your mouth, a little bit salty but you don’t mind. You look at him between half open eyes, batting innocently your eyelashes at him. He groans low in satisfaction, as you feel his cock grow harder on your tongue. You think about keeping teasing him, but then he eagerly pulls your neck closer, and you swallow down his full length in a swift motion.

It hits the back of your throat, and you have to fight back your gag reflex — it has been quite a while since you did this. He groans louder in approval, still rubbing your cheek while you swallow down his length again. Hands starting to move up and down, you fall into an easy pacing, bobbing up and down your head as you suck his cock, lips closed tight around it to give the right amount of pressure.

Kokushibou's hand grips even tighter around your neck each time you swallow him down, tongue rubbing against his length. A little bit of saliva drips down the corner of your mouth and he cleans it with his thumb, running it over your bottom lip that is now red and swollen. You glance up at him, always trying to keep eye contact.

His eyes start to fall half open, mouth slightly open, his breathing starting to become unsteady. You reach between his thighs to stroke his balls, and his moan vibrates through his body and you can feel it on your mouth. It makes you eager, sucking him harder, wanting to hear more of those sounds coming from him.

And because you can’t help, you let your teeth slightly scrape along his cock. The sharp inhale Kokushibou takes is music to your ears. He grips your hair and pulls it as punishment, making you whine at the burning sensation on your scalp, but it’s worth it.

The grip on your hair tightens as he pulls your head back until only the tip of his cock is inside your mouth. Then, he bucks his hips further; fucking your mouth in a ruthless pace. All you can do is take it, holding onto his tights as hard as you can, trying to not gag as he shoves his cock down your throat. You can taste his precum filling your mouth, heavy on your tongue.

He pulls your head back again, and you release his cock from your mouth with a loud pop.

"That's enough.” He commands, voice low and rough that makes you shiver. You watch his cock stand against his stomach in full length, he’s big, “Now, undress.”

Before getting up though, you lick at the side of his cock, from the base to the tip, leaving a wet kiss at his head and Kokushibou groan resonates through his chest. He unties the ribbon that was holding your bun, and your hair falls loosely on your back.

All of his six eyes are following your movements as you stand, fixed on each swing of your hips, each batting of eyelashes you throw at him. What once made you flinch, now is more than welcoming. It sets on your bones like a tender touch, sweet like honey as you savor all of his lust. Lust for you.

You move your body sensually; throwing back your loose hair to show more of your neck, running your hands down your chest as each piece of clothing falls into the floor. Now that you knew exactly what to do — what he really wanted from you — it was so much easier to stay under his gaze without quivering, even when he started to lazily stroke his cock while watching you undress.

When the last piece of clothing falls into the floor, you turn around, spinning on your heels. It had been awhile since you showed off your naked body to someone, the confidence that you had a few years ago decreased slightly, but seeing how Kokushibou was affected by the display — hand now stroking his cock faster — was enough to dismiss all the doubt starting to rise on the back of your mind. He has chosen you, after all.

You step closer, grabbing his kimono and sliding down his strong arms, tossing on the ground without batting an eye to see his reaction. At the first glimpse of his bare chest, your mouth waters. You knew he was strong, but hell, he was ripped. His body was so perfectly sculpted that you have to bite your lips to stop the small whine daring to escape your mouth. Your hands travel down his stomach, feeling the very defined muscles with the tip of your fingers.

Kokushibou grabs your chin, his breath hits your skin like fire. It spreads down your body and you shiver from the ecstasy of his touch; there’s a certain expectation growing on your being, waiting patiently until the final moment when he decides to fuck you — and damn it your sanity for not wanting anything else right now. His eyes are locked on your lips, red and swollen from sucking his cock. He leans closer, but before he could meet your lips you pull back just a little bit.

“I don't kiss my clients.” Your voice comes out rasp, your lips brushing his. It’s an empty threat, however, you needed to tease him as much as you could before he fucked you out of your mind.

“Good thing i’m not a client.” Kokushibou bites back, his grip tightens on your chin.

He wraps his other arm around your waist, pulling you towards him, and you come crashing into his body. You moan as his muscles rub against your nipples; feeling his cock, hot and erected, on your belly sends a wave of warmth down your belly. He moves his hips, slowly rubbing his cock on your clit. You throw your head back a little, moaning.

“No. You aren't, my lord.” You manage to say between small whimpers of pleasure as he squeezes your ass and grinds harder against you.

He groans at your words, and not wasting any more time, devours your mouth. It’s rough and borderline desperate, slamming your lips together with no room to breathe, the warmth of his skin intoxicating your better judgment. His mouth is unforgiven, teeth pulling and biting your bottom lip between kisses. You gasp in his mouth and he takes that as an opportunity to shove his tongue inside, yours coming to meet his, sliding against each other with desire on its tip.

It’s dizzying the feeling of his touch on you, how he pulls your hair and runs his tongue on the seams of your lips. It clouds your head and increases your desire, making you rock against his body, your pussy pulses with desire, searching for some kind of relief from the tension building up on your lower belly.

Kokushibou runs his lips down your neck, sucking then licking the spots he meets. It leaves you breathless, holding on his arms for dear life as he travels down your body and savors every single part of your tender skin. His tongue leaves trails of fire, marking each part with his saliva and brute carnal lust.

Without any warning, Kokushibou bites down on your neck. It stings so much that you know it broke your skin, but you helplessly moan. It’s definitely going to bruise and it’s going to be ugly. But right now you don't care. He sucks the spot, drinking your blood as the best licor he ever had.

Kokushibou sucks the sore spot again, making you whimper, before releasing you from his grip, pushing you away just a few inches so he could finish undressing the last pieces of clothing. And heavens, his body was even more perfect under the dim light coming from the lanterns; as the light casts shadows over his form, making the shape of his muscles sharper and defined.

He puts both hands on your waist, motioning for you to walk towards the futon. Your heart beats faster on your chest. Kokushibou wasn’t a very vocal man, preferring showing what he wanted through actions. So, he pushes you, and you fall down on the soft surface with your legs open; his eyes immediately are filled with a different type of hunger, and you instantly can feel what he wants - though, this time, you wanted him to devour you.

You hold yourself on your elbows as he kneels between your legs, and you can feel how wet you’re, though he didn't even do more than touch you. Damn, when did you become so desperate. You were already a mess, hair sticking on your forehead, breathing through your mouth because you can’t seem to make your lungs work anymore.

Or maybe it was just him and his overpowering effect on you, like no one else ever did.

His fingers hover over the delicate skin of your legs, traveling on the inside of your thigh in a feather touch that makes you whimper from how sensitive you are feeling from those small stimulations. You watch him from behind heavy lashes, his body in full glory over you should be a sin, it should be your salvation.

How beautiful and desirable he was, standing in between your legs just like that, eating you out with just a gaze. You moan as you watch his body move, each muscle carved on his skin as a perfect work of art. Your eyes fall on his length and your pussy clench on nothing, wishing he would bury himself inside you already.

“Turn around.” He commands in a low tone, leaning down and caging you in, hands fisted at either side of your head.

Your breath gets caught up on your throat, suddenly he is so heavy above you that not a single thread of air gets on your lungs. You slowly nod, turning around so you would be lying on your stomach, then you push your hips backward, rubbing against his cock. The contact has both of you moaning.

Kokushibou quickly grabs both sides of your hips to rub his cock between your folds, your head falls down between your shoulders as you moan desperately at his thrusts. His front is hot and firm against your back. But the way he’s teasing is tortuous; with slow drags of his length against your clit. It makes your whole body tremble underneath the pressure.

“Kokushibou, please…” The pleading scapes your lips before you can process it. It makes your body burn in shame — never in years of working in the field you pleaded for someone.

And you can feel how pleased he’s with himself when his mouth on your neck turns into a smirk. He bites down on your shoulder and you flinch, waiting for another wave of pain, but this time it’s gentle, still hard enough to leave a mark, though.

He positions his cock on your entrance, and you hold your breath, biting so hard on your bottom lip that you can taste blood. He pushes past your folds, pushing his way inside you so dangerously slow that has you moaning for more. You grip the sheets, knuckles going white. The burn that comes with him stretching you open is blinding, but you want more.

You don’t know if he’s going slow on you because he wants to let you take your time to adjust to his size, or because he likes to see you plead for more. You try to push your hips backwards, to finally have his cock buried till the tip inside you, but he stops your movements with his strong hands, holding your hips in place. Yeah, definitely the latter.

“Look at you, taking me all in with no struggle.” He purrs in your ear, still pushing half of his cock inside, “I’ll have to tell Daki that you are much more than what she sold you for.”

Your eyes grow wider with the confession, but before you can say anything, he shoves the rest of his length inside you and all the air is knocked off your lungs. He doesn't wait for you anymore, leaving just the very tip of his cock inside, then thrusting in you with enough force that has you tumbling over your arms, cheek buried in the sheets.

Kokushibou falls into a rough rhythm, the sounds of skin on skin fills the bedroom as he slam his cock inside you, his nails digging deeper on your hips, biting down another spot on your shoulder. You moan, and then again, and again; each one louder than the other, not being able to hold back your voice with each drag of his cock.

He deliciously stretches you open; the burning sensation fading away as pleasure overtakes it, your pussy clench around him, sucking him in. You thrust your hips to meet his movements, arching your back so your hips are higher, so he can go deeper. Every time he moans in your ear you feel yourself drifting from reality, mind clouded by the pleasure and by his voice.

“Oh—nnh, harder,”

With only his precum and your wetness easing his way, Kokushibou raw thrusts ruins you, making you feel each of them ten times more. The way he bites down on every inch of your body is animalistic, marking you all over. It’s going to be a pain to hide from the rest of the servants - but right now you can’t bring youself to think about that — asking him for more and more until you’re painted purple and blue.

There’s no room to think, to breath. You were turned into a mess of whining and moans as he breaks you until there’s nothing left but your voice; hoarse, but surely screaming for him. He fucks you hard into the futon; your eyes roll back, toes curling with the upcoming orgasm, your entire body trembles over his thrusts.

Your knees almost give in, but Kokushibou holds your hips up, slamming inside you mercilessly, his moans starting to fill the room as well. The sounds coming from his thrusts are filthy and wet, but barely audible, your moans overtaking any type of noise. For once, you are grateful that this room doesn't have any windows, or else, everyone would’ve heard you by now — but you suspect that’s probably what he wants.

“Aah, nnh, — K-Kokushibou!” You moan, not recognizing your own voice anymore.

Kokushibou cups your breast and squeezes harshly, dragging his nail over your nipple. You jerk away with the sting, but falls right back into his thrusts; it buries so deep inside you feel youself being torn apart, his cock throbbing inside meets the beats of your heart. Tears run down your cheeks, and he licks it as if he’s savoring each part of you that he can get.

“You're a really one of a kind,” He whispers in your ear, biting down your lob, “And now, I have you all to myself.”

The heat on your stomach is unbearable, you can’t take it anymore, it’s consuming you, driving you over the edge so fast that you can’t put a stop on it. Your pussy tightens so hard around Kokushibou’s cock that he has to stop his thrusts, your scream is muffled by the sheets as you feel yourself splitting in two, coming with his cock buried deep inside you.

Kokushibou doesn't let you catch your breath though. He pins your head down, slamming into you fast and rough that you have to ride down your orgasm while he continues to fuck you. You whimper, over sensitive, but he doesn't stop, moaning a bit louder as his thrusts starts to become more desperate and erratic.

He comes inside you with a guttural moan that has you shivering, it shakes you down to your core, hitting the deepest part of your being. You moan while his cum, hot and thick, fills you up.

Even though you were oversensitive, he continues to ride his orgasm lazyly thrusting into you until it starts to become borderline painful. Now that the adrenaline is leaving your body, you can feel your back aches from the position, your bones are heavy and all you want is to lay down and catch your breath.

Probably sensing your distress, Kokushibou stops his thrusts; but stays inside you. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you to the side, so both of you could lay on the futon. He buries his face on your neck, and even though the feeling of having a cock inside you after you both came is odd, you decide not to mention it.

Your eyelids are heavy, you’re tired and still drunk from the orgasm. Usually at this moment you would get up and leave, but since Kokushibou didn't say or made any movement to let you go, you decide it’s safe enough to fall asleep just like that.

#kokushibou #kokushibou x reader #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny x reader #kny #sometimes i write

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twdmusicboxmystery · 4 years ago

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Beth’s Memory Loss Arc, Part 2

So, about that line during their fight in Still. She’s referencing Sophia coming out of the barn and says, “I remember.”

I started wondering if it, too, could represent the memory loss. Like literally. In a template. So, I reverse engineered and what I found just makes total sense. Again, nothing we haven’t said before, but I think they laid out Beth and Daryl’s entire arc in the Still fight. That’s probably why (one of the reasons) it ended up being so powerful.

So, it starts when they enter the moonshine shack and goes all the way up until the hug. (I actually think we could extend it to the porch scene, but I’ll touch on that at the end.)

First, let me remind you of something I said very briefly a long time ago, about how Sasha and Bob in Alone are also Bethyl proxies. In that case of course, Bob = Beth and Sasha = Daryl. It’s just significant that Sasha is searching for her brother and Daryl will be searching for his brother, Rick.

Bob’s dialogue especially keeps running through my head. At one point, he tells Sasha she doesn’t have to be afraid, and she says forcefully, “I am not afraid.” That’s pretty much exactly what Beth and Daryl say to each other in Still.

Beth: “You don’t get to treat me like crap just because you’re afraid.”

Daryl: “I ain’t afraid of nothing.”

Later, Bob asks Sasha, “Why do you think Tyreese is dead?” He knows her well enough and can discern her mental state to surmise that the reason she keeps trying to stop, and doesn’t actually want to get to Terminus, is that she’s terrified she’ll get there only to find that Tyreese didn’t survive. She’s afraid to hope.

Now think about how that will translate with Daryl. Despite being determined to go find Rick, he may start dragging his heels at some point because he’s terrified that he’ll get there and find out it was all a hallucination, and that Rick isn’t really alive. Especially in the wake of Leah. I think Beth will talk him through that, just as Bob did with Sasha. That’s also when we see Sasha and Bob kiss, which probably means that this part of the story is where we’ll finally see ACTUAL on-screen romance between Beth and Daryl.

So, that’s just important to keep in mind as I go into this Still template. It will make more sense if you have that on the brain.

So, I’m gonna go through most of the fight here, and I’ll need to restate it even though I know we all pretty much have it memorized. Bear with me. What I’m going to show here is that the chronological order of the dialogue here corresponds with events in their arc. But it extends beyond where we are now to when they reunite, get together romantically, and perhaps beyond.

First there’s the “what are you, my chaperone?” line. I think this represents how Daryl felt about Beth in early seasons. I don’t think that he ever felt personally responsible for her, beyond her just being a member of the group, and of course a member of the family, but he always saw her as someone who needed to be protected and couldn’t survive on her own. So, his relationship to her was somewhat chaperone-like.

Then they start the game. I actually love when Daryl says, “I ain’t never needed a game to get lit before” and Beth says, “Wait, are we starting?” I feel like that’s the writers telling us this is the beginning of their arc, their relationship, their story together, etc.

Then they start the game. Beth begins with, “I never shot a crossbow.” Putting Still aside (I know; why would we, like, EVER do that? ;D) the next thing that happens in their story in 4x13, is he teaches her to shoot a crossbow.

Next, Daryl says he’s never been out of Georgia, which we all know happens right after Grady. So we’re going along in the chronology.

Beth says she’s never been drunk and done something she regretted. I think this probably represents them burning down the moonshine shack. And it’s interesting, because they don’t exactly regret it. But I still wonder if them burning down the shack somehow drew attention to them, and at some point we’ll learn that doing that is exactly what got Beth kidnapped to begin with. They drew a lot of attention to the smoke in 4b, even having Carol and girls comment on it several times.

Then he says the thing about never having been on vacation. I had to think a while about what this represented. I’m not claiming to have it totally pinned down, but I think this may just represent his time with Beth. For the first time, he feels emotionally safe and happy. To him, that probably felt like a relief. Like a vacation. Especially since vacations only last a short time before it’s back to real life, and he didn’t have very long with Beth before the shit hit.

Then Beth says she’s never been in jail, as a prisoner. Now, this may seem out of order, as Grady happens before Daryl leaves Georgia. But, 1) these could represent their two separate arcs and so they don’t need to line up that way. I think it’s more likely that 2) this represents Beth’s entire time in the CRM, not just Grady. And that will extend to long after Daryl leaves Georgia.

Of course, the prison question sets Daryl off and he gets up to “take a piss.”

So, I find this particular element of this template really interesting. Even though their separation has lasted for 5+ seasons, the part of this scene representing their separation only lasts about 30 seconds, and that’s a bit counterintuitive.

Think of it this way: Daryl gets up and walks away. We generally see representations more of Beth disappearing, but in this case, he walks away, leaving her behind. Leaving her back where he previously was.

Then we get his whole slew of I-Nevers. Never eaten frozen yogurt, had a pet pony, got nothin’ from Santa Claus, relied anyone for protection, or anything.

Some of these we think we’ve already seen, such as through Buttons. And maybe we have. But we can’t be sure. Maybe buttons, and all the ice cream references were just foreshadows of something to come. Or maybe not. No way to be sure, yet. (And remember that we have a huge ice cream theme this season at the Commonwealth. I’m just mentioning. ;D)

No matter what they point to, I think these represent things that either have or will happen before Beth returns.

Now, this is about to get really subtle and granular. I think the “Santa Claus” reference represents the moment when we, the audience, and maybe Carol, see Beth and know she’s alive, but Daryl doesn’t yet. The reason I think that is because at that point, when he’s saying all this, he’s still across the room from her. They haven’t come back together, yet. Therefore, all these things happen between the time he leaves her behind, and when they reunite. And Santa Claus = resurrection.

Most of us have thought for a long time that the line about not relying on anyone for protection points to Beth saving Daryl at some point. And notice that that comes after the Santa Claus line, but before the reunion. And I’m not saying she’ll necessarily save him before she reunites with him. That wouldn’t make tons of sense, unless it’s saving him from afar or something. But maybe it’s a matter of him not realizing it’s her in some way.

Oh, and then there’s a line I’ve never homed in on before. When Daryl is kicking stuff around and Beth is telling him to be quiet, he says, “Sounds like our friend out there is trying to call all his buddies.”

He just means the walker is being loud, which is in response to his yelling, but that just screams Carol is going to call Daryl (her buddy) to tell him about Beth.

So, then he eventually grabs her arm and drags her outside, right? Yes, I think that represents them coming back together. And I hear you: that’s a little weird since he’s being pretty borderline abusive right here. You’d think we’d have some indication of some tenderness or joy on his part. And I’m not saying there won’t be that wonderful, joyous reunion we’re all waiting for.

But here’s the thing. We’re all on the same page about Daryl maybe not believing it’s her because, especially because of Leah, he doesn’t trust his own sanity. He doesn’t trust his own eyes. I actually think that’s what most of the rest of this fight will translate to. Even when he does see her, I don’t think he’ll believe it’s her.

That’s why they did the Leah the way they did. To show that she felt very real to him, and he really can’t tell the difference. I think we’ll have a whole thing (probably more than just one scene, as this is; it may be an arc that’s several episodes or seasons long) where she has to convince him that she’s real. But more than that, she has to show him how to get his faith and sanity back. She’ll heal his psychosis and this whole hallucination problem, so he CAN tell the difference moving forward.

And like I said in my analysis of the Daryl Origins episode, she’ll have to convince him to open up to her emotionally again, just as she did in Still. Something no one else has been able to get him to do.

Think about everything they say here. When she talks about the people they lost mattering, she could be talking about their shared history prior to Grady, OR about everything that’s happened in the last 8 years since they saw each other.

Then check out these next two lines and think about how they fit in.

“You look at me and you just see another dead girl…

“…but, I made it!”

See how those work so beautifully? He literally thinks she’s the ghost of a dead girl and she’s trying to convince him that she never died.

Then the lines that so perfectly mirror Sasha and Bob.

“You don’t get to treat me like crap just because you’re afraid.” “I ain’t afraid of nothing.”

And then the remember line that started me thinking about this. “I remember.” Which may represent her getting her memory back. I think that will have already happened at this point, but maybe she tells him about how she had memory loss but now she remembers.

And the REALLY interesting thing is that here, she’s talking about Sophia. When this happens between her and Daryl in the future, they’ll be talking about her. About what happened at Grady. Because Beth = Sophia. The lost girl Daryl searched for. Which, incidentally, is probably why Kirkman said the thing about Daryl not caring about Beth any more than he did Sophia. Clearly, he’s trying to throw people off track, but I truly think that was code-speak for the symbolism, not a commentary and the romantic nature of Bethyl.

I still don’t know how the “you ain’t never gonna see Maggie again” line will translate in the future. No way to tell, yet. But we’ve always known it’s significant that he mentions Rick being dead. Where we are here, in the narrative, he believes Rick is dead, and then there were all those clues in the Daryl origins episode.

And then, of course, the hug. I think that probably represents the same thing it did here: her finally getting through to him, him finally opening up to her. Which means at that point, his faith in his own sanity will return and he’ll finally believe she’s real. It might also represent the romance angle.

So, that’s what I’ve been thinking about the past few days.

I did also say we could extend it until after the fight. I just have less to say about that. Them talking on the porch could foreshadow getting to know one another as a couple, or even just swapping stories from the past 8 years. Maybe every line in that convo will also translate to a future event, but I can’t be sure about that.

As for them burning down the shack, I just think of Dwight and Sherry in Fear and what the showrunner said of them. That they’ll be a badass power couple, now. So maybe this foreshadows Beth and Daryl burning down the CRM or something. Which I would 100% support. ;D

Thoughts?

#beth greene #beth greene lives #beth is alive #beth is coming #td theory #td theories #team delusional #team defiance #beth is almost here #bethyl

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ginazmemeoir · 4 years ago

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Mmkay so this is just a fic idea that was swirling in my head, based off the tale of Kacha and Devayani. hope you like it :D

tagging some : @gopikanyari @momo-all-the-way @carmen-riddle @taareginn @reddish-green-personality

@holding-infinity-and-a-book @aadyeah @weird-u @the-fault-in-our-inquilab @dragonfairy1231 @allegoriesinmediasres @mango-pickle

The afternoon sun poured through the trees. A breeze flowed through the forest, picking up pace and then lazing back, like a cat trying to chase bees. Kacha, Sharmishtha, Prabha and I had gathered near a brook. It was our favourite spot in Vrishaparva. There were no prying eyes, and devas did not interfere in asura territory so we were safe from them as well. Everything seemed a bit too bright and colourful whenever Kacha was around. He chalked it up to the fact that his mother was a yaksha, so he had a connection with the forests. I sighed as I admired him – his flowing shoulder length locks, his wide nose and high cheekbones, his smile, the way he talked with the cows, his biceps as he whirled around his lathi. “Quit ogling him and just go up to him already or you’re gonna end up alone in a pit” said Sharmishtha, elbowing me. “I don’t even know what you see in him. I hear the other asuras call him a ‘deva bastard’ and a ‘twink’.” “That’s because they’re jealous of him. No asura could match the way he looks, or the way he behaves” I reply, cutting off Prabha’s useless critiques.

The wind picks up pace once again, and Sharmishtha gets up chasing her dupatta. A blue lotus flutters and drops near my feet, and I pick it up. It shimmers as if dusted with moonshine, and its scent made the fullest of roses in bloom in spring smell like stale bread. Prabha put it along with the other flowers in my gajra, and said “Even Lakshmi wouldn’t look half as beautiful as you when she sees you like this” she laughs merrily. I push at her playfully, and that is when Kacha arrives there. He was mostly silent, listening, observing, so it made me feel as if the lotus was a drug when he said, “Devayani, can I have that lotus?”

I hastily pluck it from my hair and give it to him. Sharmishtha returned by then, leaves in her hair, and her torn dupatta in her hand. “It was stuck in a branch and I had to climb 6 feet to retrieve it.” Kacha was oblivious to her rant, and he kept looking at the flower, as if studying a complex problem. “Do you like it Devayani?” he asks. I stare at him, slack jawed, dumbfounded to reply for a minute. “Yes she does. Now Kacha why don’t you get her those flowers?” “After all aren’t you the one who brings flowers for her priceless gajras?” say Prabha and Sharmishtha in order, teasing Kacha. A blush creeps up his cheeks, as he replies, “Lady Devyani is my guru’s daughter, it is my duty to serve her.” What I wouldn’t give to hear those words, but spoken with love instead of reverence. “They grow near the river’s source, in a lake nearby. That is the only place you can find these blue lotuses.” Sharmishtha says. Determination fills Kacha’s eyes. Sometimes I do wonder if he lies about his half yaksha parentage, for there is certainly something… different about his eyes. “I will return by dusk with your cattle Lady Devyani.” He assures me, and leaves for the lotuses, getting his lathi for the trek up ahead. I don’t believe his promise at all. Twice he’s promised me before, and twice before have the other jealous asuras murdered him, and twice before has father resurrected him through the mrita-sanjeevani on my plea. I look behind him, hopeful for the love budding in his heart, and dreading for his safety.

Dusk creeps its way into the ashram. I stand at the gate, looking anxiously for any sign of Kacha, when the asuras, led by Atibala, arrive at the gates. They were clearly coming after making merry, and I could smell the scent of honey wine on them. “Guru Shukracharya, please come accept our obeisance” says an asura, slurring his words and giggling half way through. Father arrives, in his flowing white dhoti and beard, annoyed at the disturbance in his prayers to Shambhu. “Who is it at this late – oh Atibala! Come, it is always great to see an old student!” says father, as he invited Atibala and his companions. Maybe he wouldn’t greet them the same way if he knew they were the ones who had murdered his favourite disciple in cold blood twice. Or maybe he did know, but chose to ignore it. Atibala brings a pitcher and a goblet towards father and offers him wine. Father took the goblet and greedily inhaled the scent, swirling the vessel. An enthusiastic wine connoisseur, father downed the goblet in one gulp, remarking afterwards that it tasted different. Atibala attributed it to fanciful terms like the right serving temperature, touched father’s feet and left. Father soon after retired to his chambers, leaving me alone.

The sky is now dotted by stars, illuminated by the first rays of moonlight, and I start panicking. There is still no sign of Kacha. I rush towards father’s chambers and wake him up. “Father, Kacha hasn’t returned yet. Please do something!” I cry. Father immediately gets up, all hints of the sluggishness from the wine gone. He instructs me to light a lamp, and to wait outside. After what feels like eternity, but would have been a blink of an eye for him, he calls me in. His expression is gaunt, and his hands are trembling. “What happened father?” I ask, warily. “Kacha is no more.” he says, as if tired. “What?” I reply, shocked. “I SAID HE IS DEAD. HE WAS CUT DOWN BY ATIBALA AND HIS PARTY, AND THEN THE SON OF A BITCH BURNT HIM.” “Father, you are the only person in this universe who can revive the dead. Twice you have revived him at my behest, I vow father this is the last time I ask of you, please bring Kacha back.” I plead again, trying to calm father’s rage. He goes into a meditative trance again, but returns back quickly, this time even more shocked than last time. “Kacha is in me.” I am too stunned to even comprehend what he means. “Atibala mixed his ashes in my wine.” Father says, disgusted and horrified at himself, his students, and fate’s cruel turn.

Dread floods me. I cannot choose the man I love, about whose love I’m not even sure, over my father. Father, as if sensing my thoughts, says in a resigned tone, “Devyani, I can only resurrect Kacha on one condition. I will have to teach him the mrita-sanjeevani, which Kacha will then use to resurrect me back once he comes out of my body.” Father sounds like a defeated man. Obviously, such a heinous act by ones students was bound to leave a teacher like this. I kneel beside father’s bed, holding his hand, calming and healing him through my powers, as he starts chanting the mantra. Slowly, a faint light starts emitting from him. Kacha then emerges, making a sickening sound as he tore through father’s abdomen. Immediately he kneels down beside father, laying his hand on his chest, and utters the mantra. Father’s stomach seals up, and his breath returns to him as he opens his eyes. He still has that odd look of resignation on his face, and looks at me with – pity?

Today has been a lesson to me, a lesson that matters of the heart while shouldn’t be rushed, should certainly not be stayed, lest the heart’s wish never take wings. I can’t even bear the thought of losing Kacha again, not without telling him how I felt about him. “Kacha,” I start, as I move towards him “, I am in love with you. I love you like the dawn loves the sun, like the river loves the sea, like the clouds love-“ “Stop Devyani.” Kacha says, interrupting me midway. I fear what’s going to happen. Is he offended? Or does he not love me? “Devyani, I must return back.” Kacha says. “Where?” I ask him. Kacha had showed up on our door once, and each time I asked about his origin or parentage, he shied away. “Back to Amravati.” he replies. The deva capital? I look at father, who has instead chosen to look at the floor. I look back at Kacha.

I now realize the heartbreak that poets so fondly mention, as if stating the weather. How idiotic they are. Heartbreak wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t even painful. It was draining. Everything I thought I knew was a lie. The man I had fallen for saw me as nothing more than a tool. All those times I caught him looking at me, or when he caught I, was a performance. His demeanour? What about his silent laugh? Was the way he blushed earlier today also a performance, part of an elaborate use to manipulate me? A thousand questions flood me, but only one sentence makes it out of my mouth – “You lied to me. You-you used me?” Tears blur my vision as I take a step back. “You are just a deva spy, and you used me.” Kacha stays silent, his shoulders hunched and head bent. “And you knew – you knew and you kept this a secret from me!” I whirl at father. He looks at me with tear stained eyes. “Devayani I-“ “Don’t you dare even take my name out of your filthy impure tongue!” I shout as I turn back to Kacha. He flinches at my tone, and I see the glistening tears on his face as well.

“You knew how I felt about you. You knew I loved you, and you knew I would get father to resurrect you each time you died. Had you told me your truth, I would’ve kept my distance, I would’ve stayed out of your way, I would’ve respected you for fighting for your faction, and yet. Yet you chose to manipulate me and my love, you conniving betraying lying cheating deva bastard!” Kacha looks taken aback at my words. I can feel my features contorting from my rage and pain. I can feel the hurt I’m causing, the way my tongue bleeds Kacha’s heart like he bled mine. I muster all my powers, and then I utter words that would cause Kacha the most suffering – “Kacha. You have seen my love so far, but now you will see the power of my hatred and my wrath. Kacha, I curse you to never be able to use the mrit-sanjeevani. I curse you to forget the knowledge to use the same mantra for which you have died and returned to the world thrice. Let the devas know that their spy failed.”

Kacha’s expression turns to stone. He bows to my father and touches his feet, and my father, the chivalrous, honourable man he is, blessed the man who almost killed him and broke his only child’s heart with a curt “May you emerge victorious in all future missions.”. Kacha then flies out of my house, and a blue lotus, with petals that shone like moonshine and fragrance that made the fullest of roses blooming in spring smell like stale bread, falls at my feet.

#kacha #devayani #devyani #kacha and devayani #kacha and devyani #hindu mythology #mythology #story time #vasu

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multifandomfanfiction · 4 years ago

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Kingsman: The Bear and the Fairy Chapter 6

TITLE: Kingsman: The Bear and the Fairy Chapter 6 PAIRING: Jack “Agent Whiskey” Daniels/OC RATING: M CHAPTER: 7/? SUMMARY: When the Kingsman and the Statesman join together to stop Poppy Adams, the last thing Elizabeth expected was to fall in love with a tall, dark, and handsome cowboy named after a brand of whiskey.

[A/N - Hey! It’s been a hot minute since we’ve seen Elizabeth and Jack! But they’re back!]

Elizabeth woke up to someone banging on her door early the next morning. Eggsy and Tilde were in a fight, so they were staying at Statesman HQ now.

Elizabeth threw the door open. “What?” she hissed.

They’d gotten back late last night.

Jack had walked her to her door and kissed her goodnight on the cheek. She fell asleep with a smile on her face.

“Harry’s back. He’s got his memory back,” Eggsy told her.

“What?”

“C’mon.”

The two of them ran to Harry’s room and Elizabeth all but collapsed in his arms. It seemed like all she had been doing was crying.

“Shh, I’m here Lizzy-Bee.”

Elizabeth laughed hearing her old nickname.

Harry was the only one allowed to use that particular nickname.

It came from the fact that she used to flit about his house or the Kingsman shop like busy little bee. She couldn’t ever sit still, which made her an amazing fighter in the field.

“You’re back. I can’t believe you’re back!”

“Well, it’s all thanks to Eggsy here.”

Elizabeth hugged Eggsy. “Thank you. Thank you for bringing him back.”

“I know how much he means to you, Bethy.”

Elizabeth pulled away, tears still glistening in her eyes. “To us, Eggsy. To us.”

Eggsy wrapped his arms around Elizabeth again. Eggsy would always be more than a best friend to her. He was her brother and nothing could tear them apart. He had leaned on her while going through Kingsman training and now he was her rock.

They were a family.

Her, Eggsy, and Harry.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

They went out to celebrate at a local bar. Jack and Harry sat on one side of the booth, while Eggsy, Elizabeth, and Merlin sat on the other.

Elizabeth rubbed Jack’s calf with her foot as the agents talked. Feeling a little more adventurous, she slid her foot further up his leg.

Jack’s hand shot out and grabbed her ankle. He placed her foot on his thigh and rubbed circles on her ankle bone.

Elizabeth was thankful she’d gone with a simple pair of ankle boots, because Jack’s rough fingers felt amazing on her bare skin. But it was taking everything within her not to moan.

The thrill of getting caught messing around with the much older agent across from her sent a shiver down her spine.

“Now that we’ve finished the debrief, Harry, here’s a couple of welcome back gifts,” Eggsy said, bringing Elizabeth back to the present.

He held up a watch. “First up, a brand-new Kingsman watch.” He handed it to Harry. “Advanced software, it can hack into anything with a microchip. It is the bollocks. And Merlin…”

Merlin set a glasses case on the table. “I made you these. Elizabeth picked out the frames.”

Harry opened the case and took off his eye-patch.

Elizabeth looked away and Jack squeezed her ankle to try and offer her some comfort.

Harry slipped on the glasses. “Thank you, Merlin, Eggsy, Lizzy-Bee.”

Elizabeth met Jack’s eyes and she could see the laughter in them.

“How do they look?” Harry asked Elizabeth.

“Perfect. Just like your old pair.”

“Elizabeth is right. You look…” Eggsy started. He was cut off by a cowboy standing up and walking over to their table.

“Like some faggot lookin’ for an eye-fuckin’.”

Elizabeth’s blood boiled and she moved to get up, but Jack had an iron-grip on her ankle. She looked at him and he subtly should his head.

“Now, why you don’t you get out of our bar before I take out your other one?”

Jack finally let go of Elizabeth’s ankle and turned to the cowboy. “Now, is that any way to welcome a visitor from out of town, moonshine?”

“Okay. Suck my Southern dick bitch.”

The men at the table could tell Elizabeth was about to have a meltdown.

“Oh, I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Harry said, trying to remain diplomatic. Harry stood up. “Good day, sir.”

The cowboy turned to the rest of them. “Well? What are you ladies waitin’ for?”

Harry reached the door and locked it saying, “Manners maketh man. Do you know what that means? Then let me teach you a lesson.”

Eggsy and Elizabeth shared a look, both having seen Harry fight before.

Harry flung a beer glass, but instead of hitting the cowboy in the head, Jack caught it in his hand. “Are we going to stand around here all day? Or are we going to…?”

One of the cowboys punched Harry in the face.

“Harry!” Elizabeth yelled. She scrambled up on the table, but Jack caught her around the waist. “Let me go! He needs help!”

Harry got a few good hits in before he was overwhelmed.

“Do something!” Elizabeth screamed.

Jack pushed Elizabeth out of his lap and jumped up from the booth. He threw his lasso around Harry and pulled him out of the fight.

Merlin and Eggsy just stared.

“Well? Pick him up,” Jack told them, “Now that is not what I call a Kentucky welcome. Manners maketh man. Let me translate that for ya.”

One of the cowboys rushed at him.

He threw his lasso around him and flung him into the bar.

The next one had a large knife in his hand.

“Jack! The knife!” Elizabeth yelled.

Jack jumped through his lasso and knocked the knife from his hand. He tossed it to Elizabeth who spun it in her hand.

She rushed at one of the cowboys and took him out quickly. She got a couple of hits in before another grabbed her around the waist.

Jack dropped his lasso and grabbed his whip. His whip grabbed the guy around the neck.

The guy let go of Elizabeth and she jammed the knife into his thigh, taking him down.

The two of them worked together to take out the last remaining few.

Jack straightened his Stetson as Elizabeth came down from the high of fighting. “Goddamn darlin’. You’re a little hellcat, ain’tcha?”

Elizabeth smiled, pretty sure that Jack was complimenting her in his own weird Southern way.

He winked at her and tipped his Stetson to her, causing her to let out a high-pitched giggle. “We make a pretty good team, darlin’.”

Eggsy looked at the two agents.

They had looked rather good fighting together.

“We might as well call you two the Bear and the Fairy,” Eggsy told them.

Elizabeth was tiny next to Jack, even if he wasn’t as tall as some of the other agents. She barely met his shoulder.

Before Elizabeth could say anything, the TV came on.

#agent whiskey #agent whiskey/oc #agent whiskey imagine #agent merlin #harry hart #harry hart imagines #eggsy unwin #eggsy unwin imagine #jack daniels #jack daniels/oc #jack daniels imagine #kingsman #kingsman imagine #statesman #statesman imagine #kingsman: the bear and the fairy #pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine

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writerfae · 4 years ago

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Okay I'm talking about modern AU Taiden non-stop and I could for all eternity but also let me share some canonverse Taiden hcs with you this time:

assuming that they end up together sometime after the events of The Knights of the Alder

whenever Aiden visits the Willow Court Talon is assigned as his personal guard

Henry insists on a guard because he wants to make sure his brother is save and he thinks Aiden would feel more comfortable when it would be someone he knew

you know the two weren't really fond of each other when they first met but they became friends over time so though Talon is annoyed about having to "babysit" Aiden at first both get used to it with time and got even closer that way

Talon becomes quite protective of Aiden, not that he would ever admit it, but he's very determined to keep his friend save

I think at some point both start crushing on each other but never act on it (mutual pining at its finest)

okay but I actually have a headcanon about their first kiss

they're on a feast, right, and Talon has to look after Aiden, but he somehow manages to lose Aiden in the crowd, he's already starting to get a bit worried (both about Aiden and losing his job) when he finally finds him

he's with some other random fae who's shamelessly flirting with Aiden and Aiden is kinda getting along with it cause he's pretty much drunk because the fae gave him a sip of their fae wine and that's nothing you should give a mortal ever because it makes them kinda high (but since in this case it was just a sip it's not that bad, don't worry)

that of course rings Talon's alarm and after yelling and cursing at the fae he pulls Aiden away from them and takes him outside the ballroom for him to come to senses again and also for Talon himself to calm down because he's furious

Aiden complains of course and they bicker and at one point Aiden says something along the lines of "just because you don't want (to kiss?) me, doesn't mean that no one does" and makes some witty comments and Talon just wants him to stop talking so he kisses him. twice.

after that incident things are a bit distant between them because Talon doesn't think Aiden remembers (even though he does), also he has a bad conscience because he feels like he took advantage of Aiden being drunk and Aiden on the other hand doesn't bring it up cause he thinks Talon doesn't talk about the kiss because it didn't matter to him and oh well you can see where this is going

eventually they talk about it tho and sort things out and finally end up together

"I'm sorry that I kissed you back then." "I am not."

Aiden doesn't live in faerie all the time but he often visits and he visits even more when he starts dating Talon

Talon on the other hand would sometimes visit Aiden in the human world and Aiden teaches him a lot about humans

I imagine they would like to travel together a lot, showing each other their worlds and exploring new things

for example, I could imagine that they visit some wild fae clans. both are curious about those and Aiden, being part of the Wild Hunt, has already made some wild fae acquaintances that invited him, also it would be good for diplomatic purposes (to strengthen the bond of the wild fae to the fae of the Willow court and understand each other better)

during their stay at one of the fae clan villages they get tattoos together (yes wild fae do tattoos - or something pretty similar to that)

Aiden gifts Talon his necklace with the crow pendant at some point, with Talon giving him a brooch with his family crest in return, so that they have something of the other when they are separated

they write each other letters (love letters, yay)

I don't know yet if Aiden would eventually move to the faerie realm completely, but at least till the death of his father he'll totally stay in the human world (apart from his visits I mean)

speaking of fathers, Talon's father wasn't all too pleased with his son's choice, but Talon wasn't having any of it

I'm not gonna talk about problems they may have to face and I'm totally not gonna talk about Aiden's mortality because I want to cheer myself up with this not make it worse. positive content only.

the two still practice swordfigting together, sword fight sessions often turn into make-out sessions tho xD

Talon is very attentive, always making sure that Aiden is comfortable and content

I have this hc that when Aiden grows older Talon makes himself look a bit older too (with glamour), so Aiden doesn't feel odd

they like to go stargazing together

Talon always kept his hair short and straight, but Aiden likes how it gets the tiniest bit curly around the edges when it's just a bit longer, so Talon let's his hair grow out a bit more then usual

he is also kinda insecure about how tall and lanky he is? but Aiden makes him feel better about it

Aiden's brown eyes are plain compared to the fae's gem stone eyes, but for Talon that's what makes them especially beautiful. they're so dark and deep and some days he feels like he could drown in them

Talon often kisses Aiden's hand(s) and forehead and Aiden always giggles when he does it and it's adorable

when they share a bed, Aiden always hugs Talon close and Talon likes it because it makes him feel save, also he likes to listen to Aiden's heartbeat

no one would've expected the two to work out and last so long, but they did, till the very end

they've never been as lovey-dovey and open about it as Callan and Henry, but they really love each other

there's still banter and teasing in their relationship and sometimes they quarrel but they always made up somehow

even in canon Talon is always the one who's feeling cold and Aiden is the one to keep him warm

Aiden loves it when Talon plays the violin so he often asks Talon to play for him. and he does.

I could go on but this is too long already ahaha, I'll stop now. Anyway, I love these two. They may not be canon in the main story, but they still have a great future ahead of them 😌

wip intro / masterlist

tag list: @shattered-starrs @soupopoireau @a-ray-of-moonshine @quill-of-doom @heyabella @vibinwiththehomies @elisabethrosewrites @charleeyy @iced-ginger-tea @hell-yeah-fantasy @violetcancerian @that-one-potato-blep @annoyingwritingtrash @stardustspiral @shipdest @writingqueensworld @imintheunderworld @thewalkingnerdx @abalonetea @andifthestarsweretodie @fictional-semantics @cordaks @kpmccolgan @deekshablogs @myhusbandsasemni @magsiswritingnow @a-box-without-hinges @meiyanaalexia @contes-de-rheio @rhikasa @phantasticdomains @thegirlwithnonickname @marewriteblr @kimblewrites @daisylincs @treesandwords @writingbyjillian @write-for-your-life2 @deadlycupid @yejidoesthings @nora-theteawriter @ladywithalamp @the-writing-avocado (if you want to be added or removed from the tag list let me know!)

also tagging @writing-is-a-martial-art because you seemed interested in this too 🙈

#sorry for the constantly changing tenses here. I only noticed now but I'm too tired/lazy to correct them #writer speaks #writeblr #wip: the knights of the alder #writing #my writing #my characters #taiden

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alyssawritesssfics · 4 years ago

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Hounded [9] 9. Unity Day

Pairings: Bellamy x OC // Kane x daughter!OC

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: violence, mentions of blood, character death (canon), series spoilers

Summary: It’s Unity Day --and Athena’s birthday-- and the celebrations only bring Athena and Bellamy closer together.

Author’s Note: Hii, here is chapter/episode nine! This one is also heavily Athena/Bellamy, so I again had a lot of fun writing it. I hope you enjoy it! Please remember to note and reblog! It really helps me see interest and therefore update the story more often. Thank you!

Tag List: @topazy @no-damsel @lizlil (DM or send an ask to be added)

previous chapter // series masterlist

I had waited up late last night, anticipating the inevitable conversation with my parents. Luckily for me, both were too busy on the Ark to bother. Part of me was bitter, considering what today was, but I knew the chaos of Bellamy’s information stirred up a lot up there.

Luckily, today was Unity Day and Clarke and Bellamy had both agreed to pause work on the camp and defences until after the ceremony. This meant I had a chance to sleep in for the first time since I’d be locked in Skybox.

When my eyes finally fluttered open, I noticed Octavia staring at me from across the tent.

“Were you watching me sleep?” I asked, rubbing my eyes. Then, I smiled. “You’re such a weirdo.”

Octavia rolled her eyes, standing from her bed and rushing over to mine. “I found something I thought you’d like.” She leaned over, rummaging through her pack and pulling out a long knife, handing it to me with a smile. “Happy Birthday.”

My eyes widened. “I can’t believe you remembered.”

“Of course I did!” Octavia beamed. “You made my birthday in Skybox so special, and we weren’t even free at the time. I know it’s not much, but I figured it would come in handy.”

I felt my eyes swell with tears, though I quickly pushed them back. “Thank you, O. I really appreciate you even remembering.”

We hugged briefly, Octavia pulling away with excitement. “We are going to have so much fun tonight. Monty is cooking up some of his famous moonshine.”

“At least we get to drink it this time.”

“I’ll let you get ready for the day,” Octavia spoke, heading to the entrance of the tent. “Too bad the moonshine isn’t ready yet. I could use it to get through the Unity Day Ceremony.”

I laughed as Octavia headed out of the tent. After all those years of participating in the ceremony with Clarke and Wells, I could also use a drink.

…

I made my way to the center of camp, finding most had gathered around the monitor to watch the early portion of the ceremony. The camera panned to my father for a moment, a sharp pain shooting through my body. Despite lucking out and getting to avoid talking to him, of course I’d still have to see him.

“Missing being up there for this?”

I turned around, Bellamy appearing. “Definitely not.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Kane’s daughter doesn’t like Unity Day?”

“Kane doesn’t like Unity Day.” I whispered, earning a chuckle. “It’s just such an elaborate show, as if we came together peacefully for the good of mankind. The Ark only became the Ark after the thirteenth station was blasted out of the sky.”

“You’re even more pessimistic than usual.”

I rolled my eyes, turning back to the screen. “You’re one to talk.”

Bellamy let out a sigh, walking away to join the others.

Alone. As Always.

…

- Six Years Earlier -

I sat on the couch of our family’s unit, staring at the door. It was nearing midnight, and I had yet to see my parents all day. When I woke up they’d both been gone, my mother being called away for surgery and my father for whatever ‘official business’ Jaha needed him for today.

My birthday cake sat in the fridge still, awaiting an adult to stick some candles on it and light it for me. Part of me felt guilty for being upset about missing out on candles; I was one of the lucky few who could even afford to have a cake made. I had read in a book once that cakes were tradition for every birthday on Earth.

The sound of a keycard swipe yanked me from my thoughts as I quickly jumped over the couch. The hard metal door swung open, revealing my mother. She looked exhausted, yet somehow still so put together.

Her eyes finally landed on me, her tired eyes widening. “Honey, I am so sorry.”

“It’s alright, Mom.” I lied. “I spent the night watching movies after the Unity Day Ceremony.”

She frowned, placing her keycard on the table by the door. “You shouldn’t have to watch movies alone on your birthday.”

“I’m used to it.” My mother winced, her frown only growing. “I haven’t touched the cake yet.” I added, smiling.

My mother finally smiled. “Let’s bust out the candles then!”

“Really?” I asked. “We aren’t supposed to have any flames after ten.”

“Are you going to tell Jaha?” She asked. I shook my head. “Good. Neither am I.”

My mother marched into the kitchen, grabbing the candles from the drawer as I pulled the cake out of the fridge. She placed twelve candles neatly across the cake, lighting them all with a match. Before I could blow out the candles, she placed a soft kiss on my cheek.

“Happy Birthday, Sweetheart.”

My smile filled out my face as I closed my eyes and made my wish. Then, I opened my eyes, blowing out the candles as the clock struck midnight.

…

“My friends, this is a historic Unity Day.” Jaha spoke through the monitor. “Every year, we mark the moment our ancestors of the twelve stations joined to form the Ark, but this is the last time we do so while aboard her. Next year, on the ground.”

Cheers erupted on the Ark, but most remained silent down here.

“Right. After we did all the work.” Miller groaned. “Somebody shut him up.”

“You shut up, Miller. Nobody’s forcing you to watch.” Raven snapped.

“For ninety-seven years, we have eked out an existence, hoping that someday our descendants would return to Earth.” Jaha continued.

“Monty strikes again!” Jasper’s voice rang out through the camp. “Call this batch ‘Unity Juice’. Who’s thirsty?”

Many delinquents rushed over, grabbing makeshift cups while Jasper filled them all. I stayed put, for reasons I didn’t even understand, watching the ceremony instead.

“To our sons and daughters on Earth listening to this message, we will see you soon.” Jaha carried on. “The first Exodus ship will launch in under sixty hours, carrying you the reinforcements that you need, so stay strong. Help is on the way.”

As the words filled my ears, I could feel my heart stop. The first Exodus ship meant the second wouldn’t be far behind. How soon until my father was down here? Despite the constant threat, I was getting used to having freedom down here. I definitely wasn’t ready for him to bark orders at me again. At least my mother would be down here soon. Hopefully before him.

Children carrying flags danced around the screen for a while, a little girl finally stepping into the center of their circle.

“Long ago when the Earth was on fire, through space all alone. Then one day, Mir floated by Shenzhen, and they realized life would be better together.” The girl spoke. “The other stations saw this, and they wanted to be together, too. When all the stations were formed, they called themselves-”

A loud bang sounded through the radio, the video cutting to static. We all stared at the screen, waiting for the video to come back, but it never did.

…

The sun had gone down, work came and went, and now it was time to have some much needed and deserved fun. As I walked through camp I watched everyone drinking, laughing, singing and playing games. I’d never seen ‘unity’ like this on the Ark.

My eyes landed on Bellamy, and I felt a familiar sinking feeling in my stomach. I took a deep breath, marching over until I was standing behind him.

“Hey,” I spoke, causing him to turn around. “I was a jerk earlier. I’m sorry.”

Bellamy eyed me for a moment, before smiling. “Birthday blues, I get it.”

My eyes widened. “How did you-”

“Octavia told me a bit ago.” Bellamy cut me off. “I can’t blame you for hating Unity Day more than most.”

“My birthday was always a little overshadowed.” I sighed. “I can’t complain too much, though. My mother always found a way to make it special, even if it was just before midnight.”

Bellamy smiled. “Your mother sounds great.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty cool.” I smiled back.

I watched Clarke approach us, a frown on her face. “The comms are still dead.”

“Best Unity Day ever.” Bellamy smirked.

“Now you agree with me.” I joked.

“Do you guys really think now is a good time to have a party?” Clarke asked, looking around. “The Grounder is still out there.”

I shook my head. “Grounders.”

“By now, he's made it home. He's probably putting together a lynch mob.” Bellamy spoke, causing Clarke to shift her feet. “Relax. I got security covered. Why don't you go get a drink? You look like you could use one.”

“I could use more than one.”

“So have more than one,” Bellamy responded. “Clarke, the Exodus ship carrying your mother comes down here in two days. After that, the party's over. Have some fun while you still can. You deserve it.”

Clarke thought for a moment. “Yeah, okay. So do you, by the way. Both of you.”

“I’ll have my fun when the Gounders get here.” Bellamy smirked.

Clarke smiled, laughing slightly. “Alright.”

We both watched her disappear into the crowd, Bellamy spinning the apple in his hand. Finally, he turned to me.

“What about you?” He asked. “Shouldn’t you be celebrating?”

I shrugged. “I’m not even sure I know how to celebrate.”

Bellamy took one final bite of his apple, tossing it to the side. “Come on.” He said, marching away.

“Where are we going?” I asked, my shorter legs struggling to keep up.

“First, we get drinks. Then, I teach you how to celebrate.”

I laughed, causing him to stop and look back at me. “You’re going to teach me how to celebrate?”

Bellamy smirked. “Trust me, we used to have the best parties on Factory Station.”

“Right, I heard about those.” I smiled. “I always wished I could go.”

“Well, now you pretty much get to.”

We reached Jasper, Bellamy asking for drinks. Jasper poured them, eyeing the two of us the entire time.

…

We spent most of the night drinking, talking about our experiences on the Ark and playing different games. Finally, we came across a new group, Clarke among them.

“You’re not gonna get this one.” Clarke taunted Fox.

Fox smirked. “Yes, I am.”

“No, it’s not happening.”

Fox flipped the metal piece, landing it the cup of moonshine.

Everyone around the table cheered as Clarke admitted defeat, drinking from the cup and spitting the metal piece out.

“What do you know?” A boy spoke. “Her highness can actually party. I like it.”

“What are you gonna do when the guards come down here and commandeer Monty’s still?” Clarke asked.

“Build another one.”

“Right.” Clarke laughed, her eyes landing on me. “Athena! Come try.”

I shook my head. “I’m alright, thanks.”

“Come on, Athena.” Bellamy nudged my arm.

I sighed, stepping towards the table. “Alright, what am I supposed to do?”

Clarke explained the rules to me as best as her tipsy self could. I stood across the table from her, aiming my piece of metal towards her cup. I then tossed it, the piece bouncing off the table and landing in her cup.

Clarke stared down at her cup for a moment before looking back up at me with a frown. “I regret asking you to try it.”

“Beginners luck.” I threw my hands up, smiling.

Clarke and I battled it out for a bit, her getting distracted before we could break the tie. She placed one of the metal pieces on her nose, struggling to balance it.

“Hey, can we talk?” Finn asked, appearing through the crowd and placing his hand on Clarke’s arm.

“Is everything alright?” She asked.

Finn looked around before gesturing for her to follow him.

With Clarke gone I stepped away from the table, realising I had sort of abandoned Bellamy. To my surprise he was still there, the smile on his face bigger than I’d ever seen it before.

“You were totally going to win that game.”

My eyes widened, my cheeks warming up. “You think so?”

He nodded. “I’m impressed, Athena.”

“It’s the birthday spirit, I guess.” I laughed, stumbling slightly.

“Woah,” Bellamy laughed, grabbing my arms. “You alright?”

I nodded. “I’m a little dizzy. Very tired. Too much birthday.”

Bellamy laughed again, helping me regain my balance. “Let’s get you to bed, alright?”

“That sounds like a good idea.”

Bellamy led me across the camp, stopping just outside of my tent.

“Octavia, are you in there?”

No response.

Bellamy pushed the flap to the side, stepping inside and helping me navigate my way through. I quickly sat on my cot, staring up at Bellamy.

“Alright, try to get some sleep.” Bellamy’s eyes shifted around the tent. “I’ll bring you some water in a bit. Drink it when you wake up.”

Bellamy turned to leave, but I quickly grabbed his arm. “Bellamy, wait.”

He stopped turning back around to face me. I stood from my bed, the alcohol taking over me and I tossed my arms around him.

“Athena?” He asked.

“Thank you, for everything today.” I spoke. “It was the best birthday ever.”

I felt Bellamy’s arms wrap around me, lingering there for just a few moments before we both pulled away. I stared into his soft brown eyes, and he stared back into mine. For a second, I thought he’d say something more.

Instead, he smiled. “Goodnight, Athena. Happy Birthday.”

Bellamy turned to exit the tent, pushing the flap aside to reveal Clarke. Her eyes quickly darted to me behind him, before landing back on his face.

“Hey, I needed to talk to you both.”

“Been having fun, Princess?” Bellamy smirked.

Clarke glared. “I’m serious.”

“You always are.”

“Finn’s set up a meeting with the Grounders. I’m leaving to go talk to them.”

I stood up, my head spinning. “Like hell you are.”

“Do you think that impaling people on spears is code for ‘let’s be friends’? Have you lost your damn mind?”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Now you two decide to agree on things?”

“Clarke, we have no idea what else these people are capable of. You could be walking into a trap.”

“I think it might be worth a shot.” Clarke shrugged. “I mean, we do have to find a way to live with them.”

“They’ll probably gut you, string you up as a warning.”

“Well, that’s why I’m here.” Clarke said. “I need you guys to follow us, be our backup.”

“Does Finn know about this?” Bellamy asked.

Clarke shook her head. “He doesn’t need to know.”

I eyed Clarke for a few moments, before finally letting out a hearty sigh. “Alright, I’m feeling up for an adventure this evening anyways.”

“Good,” Clarke nodded. “Bring guns.”

While I watched Clarke march away, Bellamy turned to me.

“You should stay here.”

I shook my head. “No way, I’m coming with you.”

“Athena, you were falling over ten minutes ago.”

“And now I’m worried about my friends.” I snapped. “Bellamy, We’ve all been drinking. I’ll sober up on the walk there.”

“Athena-”

“I can’t stay behind while my friends meet with the enemy. I’m coming with you, end of discussion.”

“No, not ‘end of discussion’,” Bellamy glared, folding his arms across his chest. “Who knows what kind of danger we’re gonna be walking into out there. I know you always feel like you have to risk yourself for your friends, but not this time. I can’t worry about you.”

I went to protest, his words finally sinking in and forcing me to stop. He was right. As much as I found arguing with him slightly entertaining, I knew this was one battle I would not be winning.

“Alright,” I sighed, slapping my hands against my thighs as I sat down on my coat. “Promise you’ll be careful?”

Bellamy nodded. “We’ll be back before you know it. Try to get some rest.”

Bellamy left the tent, and I knew I would not be getting any sleep that night.

next chapter

#the 100 #the 100 fanfiction #bellamy blake #bellamy blake fanfiction #bellamy blake x oc

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snowdice · 5 years ago

Text

Finding the Time to Study Fic 2 [Day 15]

Here is my starting post for today’s study break stories session. See this post for more details and feel free to send me asks to keep me going! It’s been a lot of fun so far! I will reblog this post with the story as I write them today. I’ll be constantly looking for ideas of times and places for Janus to have missions, so feel free to send in any you can think of at any point!

If you are a new follower or just don’t want all of these posts clogging your dash, please feel free to block the tag “study break stories” as all posts and voting about it will go there. You can still see the finished product of the story even if you are blocking that tag as I will not tag the edited chapters with “study break stories” but with the tag “folds in paper.” See edited chapters below. Chapters 3-7 and what I have of Chapter 8 are under the cut.

My Masterpost Part 1 Part 2

I also have a playlist on youtube (because Spotify didn’t have one of the songs I wanted). It’s short, and not really for serious listening, but I had fun with it.

This thing is going to be 1K words with the semester I’m having. :P The plan is to do a lot of work today. I even have my dinner in a crock-pot. I’m giving a presentation on October 13th and want to basically knock out the prep today so I don’t have to have it hanging over my head. Not sure if I will achieve that, but that’s the plan! I have big goals! Wish me luck! :D

Chapter 3

Janus and Remus both appeared at the same moment a couple of feet apart in what looked like the inside of a garden shed. There was already a man waiting for them a few feet away. “Sup babes,” Remy said, just like he always did. The T-Agent looked their costumes up and down and whistled. “Now that,” he said, “almost makes me want to be one of you time jockeys.”

“They wouldn’t let me have a gun or a canister of moonshine,” Remus pouted.

Remy snorted. “Sorry, babes, but that makes my job a lot easier. If I’ve gotta fish you outta the 1920s criminal justice system, I’d rather it not be because you shot someone on accident ‘cause you don’t know how to use the safety.”

Remus groaned dramatically. “Everyone is lame.”

Remy just shook his head. “Meet back here when you’ve got the necklace,” he said. “Don’t make a move until after 11:05pm and before 11:17. That’s your window.”

“We know,” Janus said. “See you then.”

“Have fun at the party boys,” Remy said and then lowered his shades to look at Remus, “but not too much fun.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Remus, already towing Janus out of the garden shed. The way had been specifically cleared for them, so they met no other people before they’d rounded the house the party was taking place and had gotten onto the driveway in front of the house.

Without missing a beat, they strolled up to the front of the house, just as a car pulled into the end of the driveway. Janus rang the doorbell, and a few moments later, a man who was clearly the butler answered the door. They handed over their invitation, and the man immediately let them in.

The party had already started when they slipped into the medium sized ballroom that had been decked out in streamers and other decorations. Janus’s nose immediately wanted to scrunch as the smell of sweat from all the dancing already going on as well as the too strong perfume meant to cover that stench wafted over him. It was by far not the worst smelling time period, but he was pretty sure some people still weren’t aware deodorant had been recently invented.

He checked his time piece which had been disguised as a fancy wristwatch for this trip. “Okay,” he said. “We have about two hours before we need to make our move. We should…”

Remus’s attention was already being dragged away by a young man who seemed to be providing guests with food. “I’m going to go ‘mingle’,” he said, winking.

“No!” Janus hissed. “Re- Richard! No!”

Yet, he was already disappearing into the horde of stinky bodies, likely to go scandalize a bunch of rich folks, and leaving Janus alone. Janus mumbled a curse under his breath that he was sure no one around him would understand even if they could make it out.

Unsure what to do with himself, he wandered over towards where the live musicians were playing jazz music, being sure to keep out of the way of the dancers. He was edging around the makeshift dancefloor, when one of said dancers must have misstepped and knocked into another one. The second man stumbled right towards Janus, arms pinwheeling. Janus reached out on instinct to catch the man as he fell.

There was a moment where the two of them just stared at each other, surprise evident on the other man’s face. He was wearing a mask that just covered the area around his eyes and the top of his nose, revealing a smattering of freckles across his cheeks that Janus imagined extended to his nose.

The mask was a light blue velvet with a flower stuck on the side near his right ear, and a trail of curled golden ribbon bobbed down around his chin. The party continued on around them, a blur of movement and sound.

“Are you alright?” Janus asked.

The man blinked up at him and then tilted his head slightly to the side as though confused, before a smile slowly grew on his face. “Oh, I’m fine Dove.”

“Dove?” Janus asked.

He giggled. “You have dove feathers on your mask,” he explained, reaching up a hand to touch one. His finger brushed the tip of Janus’s ear, “and I don’t know what else I am supposed to call you.”

“My name is Lee,” he automatically lied.

“Is it?” he asked, sounding amused. “Doesn’t seem to fit you well. I like Dove better.”

“Oh?” asked Janus. “And what’s your name so I can not call you that?”

The man chuckled. “Call me Pat.”

“Hello Pat,” Janus said.

“I thought you didn’t want to call me by my name.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Hmmm,” Pat said, finger tracing idly across Janus’s forearm which was when Janus realized with a start that he was still holding the man in his arms. He quickly went to release him, which Pat allowed with clear amusement.

Yet, instead of completely stepping away, Pat grabbed Janus’s arm. “What are you doing all the way over here by the way?” he asked. “Don’t you want to dance.”

“Oh,” Janus hesitated. “I don’t really dance.” Or at least not in the way the people around him were. He’d had basic training for this style, but it had been a while and he was a bit rusty.

“Everyone dances Dove,” Pat claimed. “At least if they know the steps and have the right partner.”

“But I don’t know the steps,” Janus said with an eyebrow raise.

He hummed. “Well, I know the dance pretty well by this point,” Pat said. “Why don’t I teach you how it goes.”

He was agreeing with the soft beseeching tone before he even realized it. Pat pulled him into the middle of the throng of people. He seemed to think, bopping his head to the music playing for a moment, before looking back at Janus. “Heard of James Johnson?”

Janus inclined his head.

“Well, have you heard his new song? Because there’s a dance that goes with it.”

He took a few steps away from Janus and started to dance. Despite his claim to know the steps, he wasn’t particularly good, but he made up for any loss of rhythm with pure enthusiasm.

Janus found himself smiling at the man, and after a few moments, joined in with the dance. Despite his lack of practice, he ended up having a better natural rhythm than Pat. Pat didn’t seem to mind that he was being outperformed, however. On the contrary, he giggled at himself the couple of times he stumbled.

When he fell into Janus’s arms for the second time that night, Janus decided he’d probably had enough dancing for the moment and pulled him off to the side to get something to drink and cool down a bit.

He watched the man take a snack and some punch from one of servers and thank him happily before turning back to Janus. Pat was easily able to keep Janus’s attention as they chatted. He was bubbly and soft, and Janus found himself enchanted as they talked.

He was explaining the steps of a different dance, a couples one. “Knowing how to perform the tango will entrance any girl you want,” Pat said, something mischievous sparkling in his eyes. “Assuming you’re that type of fella.”

“As opposed to what?” Janus asked.

Pat leaned in a bit closer. Not too much, but enough that he was definitely in Janus’s space. “A different type of fella,” he said simply, before smiling and leaning back.

Janus let out a shaky exhale and took a sip of punch. He glanced over at Pat. “Tell me about yourself, Pat,” he said.

Pat hummed in contemplation. “Well, I went to France recently.”

“You did?”

“Oui, c'était amusant, mais j'ai eu des ennuis”

“What kind of trouble?” Janus asked curiously.

“Oh, the kind with a pretty boy and crepes that were way too sweet. Anyway,” he continued. “Other than that, I mostly help out my friend. He’s an inventor.”

“And how do you help him.”

He shrugged, “Running errands mostly, and making sure he gets enough sleep, because otherwise he gets distracted and forgets. And you?”

“I’m a banker,” he said, remembering his cover, but felt compelled to add, “but I like to travel as well.”

“You do look the type?”

“And how is that?”

Pat shrugged. “I can always tell a wandering spirt from the masses, and you are easy to spot.” Pat looked at him then with a secret smile on his face, and Janus felt suddenly known, like the man in front of him had known him for years even though they’d only just met. Looking at him then, he wanted suddenly for that to be fact and not a flight of fancy.

He was brought firmly back to reality in the next moment. “Lee,” a pointed and familiar voice said. Janus’s head snapped up to see Remus, staring at him. He tapped his wrist. Janus glanced at his own wrist: 10:58pm. He just barely managed not to curse.

“I,” he said looking up at Pat. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

“That’s okay,” Pat said easily. “It is getting rather late.”

“Yes,” Janus agreed. “Well… goodbye.”

Pat, titled his head, a half smile on his face. “I’ll be seeing you around.”

Janus nodded, and turned away from him towards Remus. He didn’t look back as they excited the ballroom. They snuck into a small side closet for coats that wasn’t being used as it was summer.

“So,” Remus said when the door closed behind them.

“Don’t,” warned Janus.

“I’m not one to judge,” Remus said.

“Shut up.” He glanced at his watch. It was 11:02. “We’ll go in 5.”

“I have to give it to you. He was very cute.”

“We’re not talking about it.”

Remus just laughed joyfully, and Janus did his best to halt the blood rushing to his cheeks.

At 11:07, well into their window, they slipped back out of the closet, and towards the stairs as the party raged on.

Despite how Remus usually never shut up, he was able to be quiet when it counted. They snuck to the master bedroom of the home’s owners in silence. The door was already wide open by the time they got there, and Janus didn’t think anything of it. At least, he didn’t until they entered the bedroom, and there was someone already there.

He turned from the dresser he’d been standing in front of to face them, sending Janus the same smile he had down in the ballroom. Janus and Remus both froze. “Sorry, sweetie,” Pat said. “Were you here for this too?” he held up the necklace they’d been sent for. He closed his fist around the charm made out of time travel tech.

“What?” Janus said.

Pat giggled and winked. “Unfortunately, I need it a bit more than you at the moment. So, I’m gonna have to go.” Janus stepped forward, not really sure what he was intending to do, but Pat just smiled. “See you some other time, my Turtle Dove.” With a snap of his fingers and loud crack, he disappeared. The mask he’d been wearing fluttered to the ground.

Arc I: Finding Cinderella

Chapter 4

Janus was frozen in surprise for a few long moments after Pat disappeared. Which had been, admittedly, his mistake, because, while their window had technically been until 11:17pm and it was only 11:10, the loud crack that whatever Pat had been using for time travel made, garnered the attention of someone else.

“Uh oh,” Remus said, likely hearing footsteps. “Hide.”

That snapped Janus into action, but instead of hiding immediately like a sensible human being, he chose to go for the only link to the man who’d just stolen time travel tech and waltzed away, the mask.

Which was why he ended up getting arrested.

Remy tsked the moment they were all alone in the police car having come to ‘transfer Lee to another facility.’ Remus was already waiting in the front seat, and flashed Janus a smug smile. If Janus wasn’t still handcuffed, he’d slap him.

“Well,” Remy said. “At least you didn’t shoot anybody like I asked. I was joking by the way. I didn’t really want to pick you up from a 1920s police station period.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“Mmm, nah, ‘cause Remus managed to not get arrested this time, so you defiantly screwed something up.”

“Oh, he defiantly wanted to screw something all right,” Remus said joyfully.

“Remus,” Janus hissed.

“What?” he asked. “I’m not the horny one for once. Well, no, that’s a lie, but it didn’t affect the job this time.”

Janus groaned and leaned his head back against the seat.

Remy pulled into a seemingly random garage around 20 minutes later. “Alright,” he said. “Here we are.” He got out of the car and then helped Janus out before uncuffing him. “Here’s your ‘watch,’” Remy handed him the timepiece that had been confiscated when he’d been arrested.

Janus put it on and activated it. “Shit,” he said.

“What?” Remus asked.

“An appointment with cultural outreach has already been downloaded to my calendar for once we get out of decon.”

“Oof. Going to baby jail,” Remy laughed. Remus was cackling.

“This,” Janus said, “was not a cultural faux pas. I did nothing that indicated that I was not from this time. I am not some rookie.”

“Don’t forget cell phones don’t exist in the 1920s,” Remus sang.

“The real question is whether or not my foot exists in your…” Remus disappeared before he could finish, a smirk on his face. Janus growled. “By Remy,” he gritted out. He selected the decontamination chamber from his queue, ignoring the appointment that came after it for now.

He knew exactly where Remus would be standing when he landed, which was why he stepped forward on reentry to ram into him.

He yelped in surprise. “Sorry,” Janus said pleasantly. “I must have also forgotten landing procedures.

Remus laughed good naturally. “Aw, come on Jay,” he said, bumping Janus back, albeit much gentler than Janus had been. “It’s not a big deal. You just go talk with some crusty old college professor who is far too interested in spoons and then everything’s fine.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” he growled. “They’re treating me like I’m an idiot who accidently invented disco in the 1920s when I was conned by some free agent time traveler.”

“‘Conned,’ Remus said. Is that what they’re calling it now?”

“I know where and when you live Remus,” Janus said.

Remus gave him a dopey smile as the decontamination cycle finished and the door unlocked. Janus’s wrist buzzed telling him that the coordinates to the cultural outreach office were now unlocked. Instead of pulling them up, Janus walked to the door.

“Um,” Remus said, following him. “Aren’t you supposed to be going to your appointment?” Janus just kept walking towards their office. “Uh… Jan?”

“It’s absolutely ridiculous that I have to go to cultural outreach,” Janus said. “In fact, no one can make me. If they want me to go have a discussion about the definition of ‘bushwa,’ they’re going to have to have me dragged there.”

“Mmm, I feel like The Boss won’t be too happy about that, and I have a feeling she’d be 100% down to dragging you there herself.”

“Well, then, let her,” Janus said, stalking through the door to his office. “I’m not going to…”

“Ah, Agent Picani,” the woman standing next to his desk, clearly waiting for him, said when he came through the door. “Dr. Picani was informed that there were complications with your last mission and wishes to have a conversation with you and asks that you meet him in his office at the AMO.”

“Oh, um,” Janus said, stumbling a bit before plastering on a regretful half smile. “Unfortunately, I actually have an appointment right now at Cultural Outreach. It’s mandatory and very important, and I have to go now. So, I’ll have to take a raincheck on that.”

“But-” she started, frowning.

“Remus, work on the report!” Janus said quickly as he waved his hand to bring up his timepiece display and jammed his finger at the glowing appointment card in his queue. A few moments later, Janus was at Cultural Outreach.

Cultural Outreach was not part of the TPI, though it often worked very closely with them. It was a collaboration between the government and multiple universities to help government workers, politicians, and other citizens understand and bridge cultural gaps. It had existed before time travel was invented but had expanded to also teach people who needed to time travel how to behave in unfamiliar times and cultures.

After it had to be expanded to provide for the TPI, it had been moved to Silver Mountains University. The building had once just been a museum, but it had been thoroughly renovated and there had been add-ons for office space and some classrooms. It was still a museum, however, its purpose had expanded greatly and there were many areas that were off limits to the general public.

One of these areas was the fourth floor, where Janus’s timepiece had dumped him. This was the floor that was almost exclusively for TPI agents and staff of Cultural Outreach who worked with them.

He immediately turned away from the reception area, hoping that he could escape and go sit on the university’s quad or something of the like for the next hour or so in hopes the woman his brother sent to fetch him would give up and go back to the AMO. Yet, the receptionist apparently saw him.

“Janus Picani?” he asked.

Janus grimaced and turned back towards him. “Yes,” he said.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “You’re 5 minutes late for your appointment and seem disoriented.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Is your timepiece malfunctioning?”

“No.”

“Uh… okay. Well, if you sign in here, I can take you to your appointment.”

“…Fine.”

He begrudgingly stepped forward and touched the screen he’d gestured to sign with his fingerprint, and then let the man lead him down the hall.

The door they stopped at was propped open slightly, but he still paused and knocked. “Professor Eran? Your 2:30 is here.”

Janus had just a moment upon hearing the name to think that maybe there was actually some sort of intelligent design of the universe and whatever being of ultimate power had crafted it was a dick.

The door opened and Virgil Eran’s eyes immediately narrowed on him. “Janus.”

“Virgil.”

“I see you’re still late for everything.”

“I see you’re still a bastard.”

Janus saw the receptionist slowly back away in the direction they’d come.

“Why don’t you come in?” Virgil said faux pleasantly.

Janus did, because he really didn’t have much of a choice at this point unless he wanted to jump out of a window… or push someone out of a window.

Virgil turned back into his office and took a seat behind his desk. Janus unhappily followed him in and sat across from him.

He took his time pulling up whatever the TPI sent him and reading it over. “So, I see you failed your recovery mission and were arrested in 1923.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Janus said. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Virgil gave him that same suspicious look he used to give Janus whenever Janus claimed to have not eaten his hot pockets out of the freezer in the middle of the night. He’d only been lying 80% of the time. Virgil had a tendency to forget what he’d eaten in a half-conscious state at 3 o’clock in the morning.

“I shouldn’t,” Janus snapped defensively. “Nothing went wrong with anyone from the time period. An illegal time traveler screwed up the mission details.”

“Well, it is still protocol to make sure nothing slipped when agents go off script. You weren’t prepared to be in a jail cell, and it is possible that you screwed something up.”

“I didn’t screw anything up,” Janus growled.

“Alright,” Virgil said pulling up a document on his desk. “The mission started on July 27th, 1923 at 9:58pm, correct?”

“Oh, god, we’re not really going to fill out a time sheet. I don’t have time for that today.”

“It is protocol and best that the information is documented when it is still fresh in your mind. Besides, your schedule has been cleared for the rest of the workday.” The bastard was enjoying this. He knew how much Janus hated this stuff.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Janus said, “it was the damned illicit time traveler.”

“And I will be the judge of that,” Virgil said. Janus should have just bit the bullet and had coffee with his brother. “If you truly did nothing wrong, your supervisor will see that when I send this to her.”

Yet, despite the fact that Virgil clearly relished in his suffering, he was charitable enough to do most of the actual filling out of the forms. He’d read out the questions and write down what Janus said instead of making him do it himself. Janus really only had to do a quick quality check and sign it at the end.

He still was an asshole about the details, but really he’d been like that about stupid thing like the settings for the dish washer and how the pantry was organized during their college days before they’d had their falling out, so Janus wasn’t particularly surprised. When they were finally done, Virgil sent it off to get filed by the TPI.

Then, they were left staring at each other with nothing between them but almost a decade of radio silence and a whole lot of awkwardness.

“I should go,” Janus finally said, standing up.

Virgil tilted his head slightly to the side and gave him a half smile. “Don’t lock the door behind you,” he said. “Not that I’d expect you too.”

Janus took it for the clear attempt at a joke it was intended to be and puffed out a breath of amusement with a head shake. “No risk of that,” he said. Then, he turned and walked out of the office.

Chapter 5

Janus stepped back into the reception area and booted up his time piece. Instinct said to go back to the office despite the fact that it was late enough that most people had gone home, but he hesitated. Surely Emile had given up by now, but considering he’d sent someone to ambush him in his office, Janus wasn’t sure if he should trust that. He could just go home, but he already knew his mind was racing too much to sleep tonight so he’d probably just end up staring at the lake for the next 6 hours. So, he decided on the only other legitimate option he had. He pulled up Remus’s home coordinates and selected.

The home that Remus had chosen (after his long line of rejected requests) managed to somehow make no and absolute sense simultaneously to anyone who knew him. It was a small farm in the United States just west of the Mississippi in 1842 in what would be ratified as the state of Iowa in a few years. When asked why he would choose that time and place, Remus always responded with “I thought it was funny,” whatever that meant.

Unlike most time agents who simply used the identities assigned to them by the AMO as a cover, Remus actually lived his part time.

Janus was… fairly certain he was cheating a bit to get everything done, but he maintained his small farm all on his own, growing most of his own food. The neighbors he had lived very far away, but he still spoke with them far more than Janus did his own.

Janus appeared inside the small home, his eyes already shut. “Are you hear and dressed?” Janus called. Something bumped lightly into his legs.

“I’m in the kitchen!”

Janus peaked his eyes open and squatted to pet the cat at his feet. “That doesn’t answer my question!” he called back to Remus.

“It’s a surprise!” Remus said.

“Remus.” Diesel Fuel the cat flopped to her side on the ground as Janus continued to pet her ears. He heard Remus’s footsteps, and saw cloth covering his legs, so risked looking up. He was currently not only dressed, but wearing an apron that Janus was fairly sure was not time appropriate judging by the fabric and cat pawprint design. He had a bit of flour on his hands, and it may have been a bit too white for the time and place, but Janus couldn’t be completely sure.

“What’re you doing here?” Remus asked.

“My day has been an endless series of frustrations,” Janus said. “So, I have come to see the only tolerable being in the history of the universe.”

Remus snorted. “Since I know that isn’t me, I’ll assume you’re talking about the cat.”

“I still don’t understand why you tolerate this creature,” Janus addressed Diesel Fuel. She blinked slowly up at him. “To be fair, he was assigned as my partner. I didn’t have much of a choice in it. You could go always run away and become feral in the woods if you’d like.”

“So could you, technically,” Remus pointed out.

“I’m thinking about it after today.”

“Would you like some bread?” Remus asked. “That’s all I’ve been making this afternoon. Some fresh should be coming out of the oven in a few minutes.”

“Do you have anything stronger made out of wheat?”

“Ew, no, but I do have vodka.”

“Vodka works.”

“Want me to mix it with something?”

“No.”

“One of those night then,” Remus said, easily. “Let me finish up the bread, so I don’t burn the kitchen down. You can go get the alcohol from the cellar while you wait if you want, or you can just flop down on the couch.”

He was going to just flop down on the couch.

He did just that as Remus disappeared back into his kitchen. The cat hopped onto his stomach, proceeding to purr loudly and kneed at chest. Janus petted the cat and listened to the noise of Remus moving around in the other room, letting his mind drift. His mind drifted to Virgil for a bit and he steadfastly did not allow it to drift to his brother. Yet, the thing that most was on his mind was the strange man who had flirted and charmed Janus all night before mercilessly screwing him over. ‘Pat’ he’d said his name was, but surely that was not his real name.

Janus sighed and scratched the cat’s ear. “He certainly wasn’t an amateur,” Janus mused to the cat. “With that amount of precision to get in before we did, he must have someone not on the ground feeding him information. Perhaps more than one.” He was part of a group of time traveling thieves perhaps or something worse. “I didn’t get a good look at his face since he was wearing a mask,” Janus said, “but I spent a lot of time with him, and I’m sure Remy swiped the mask from the police since it had been on me when I was arrested. It’s a good lead.”

He continued to pet Diesel Fuel. Eventually, Remus came back in, noticed Janus hadn’t bothered to get the alcohol and went outside to the cellar. “I’m going to find him,” Janus told Diesel Fuel. “I’ll stop whatever it is he’s doing, and I’ll bring him in.” Diesel Fuel mewed her support, and Janus patted her on top of the head.

Remus came back in with the bottle of vodka and handed it to him without a word. He sat down on the couch near Janus’s feet and patted his lap so Diesel Fuel would come over to him and allow Janus to sit up.

The bastard waited until he was approximately 3 shots in (he didn’t have a shot glass and was just taking drinks from the bottle) to ask the questions Janus really didn’t want to answer. “Are you mad at Emile?” Remus asked.

Janus groaned, trying to wash out the bitter taste of shame and grief with the sharp sting of vodka. It didn’t work. “No,” he said to Remus.

“Then why have you been avoiding him?”

“Shit, I’m here because I didn’t want to think about it. Can’t we just not.”

“Don’t want to think about what?

“It’s none of your business, Remus.”

He could feel Remus frowning at him, but Janus stared resolutely ahead. At least, he did until a foot poked his face. He slapped it away, but it did the job of getting Janus to look at Remus.

“It is my business,” Remus said, foot still in the air. “I’m your partner and your friend.”

“If I’m your friend, you’ll drop it.”

“So, you’re not mad at Emile,” Remus continued, contemplatively. “Did you do something to him, then?” Janus bit his lip and looked away. “What?” Remus asked. Janus didn’t respond. “Look, I’m sure he’ll forgive you for whatever it is. He’s a good guy. Just talk to him about it.”

“I can’t,” Janus said.

“Whatever it is, it’s probably been long enough that he forgives you. You literally just have to have a conversation, say you’re sorry, and everything will be A-OK.”

“I can’t,” Janus repeated.

“Why not?”

“He doesn’t know about it.”

Remus paused. “So, as far as he knows, you just cut contact with him all of a sudden for no reason and have been avoiding him ever since?”

Janus looked at his shoes. “Yeah.”

“That…” Remus said, “is not fucking fair Janus.”

“I know.”

“Then why the hell are you doing that to him? He’s like… soft and feeling-y. He’s probably really upset.”

“I know, Remus.”

“Tell him. Whatever it is.”

“I can’t.”

“Look,” Remus said. “You tell him and he either forgives you or he doesn’t. If he does, everything’s fine. If he doesn’t… well, it’s not like it would be any different from you two never being in the same room the last few years. Either way, you can’t just do this to him. He’ll probably forgive you. He’s your brother. Brothers don’t… brothers would forgive each other.”

Janus laughed softly and met Remus’s eyes. “That’s the problem,” he said. “He’d definitely forgive me.” He turned away and opened the vodka bottle again. “Now, if you’ll shut up for a few minutes, I’m going to drink until I black out.”

Chapter 6

“Really, Khalid,” Janus said, storming into his boss’s office. “A yellow?” It had been about a week since the 1920s incident, and his incident report had finally been cleared. Sure, it wasn’t a red or a black and he wasn’t facing any reprimand, but it should have been a green.

She looked up at him, clearly unconcerned. “There was an incident,” she said. “You handled it well, but there was one. Therefore, yellow.”

“It wasn’t a time travel incident! It was a rouge time traveler.”

“Janus, you helped me make these rules,” she said impatiently.

“Which is why I know this is bullshit,” he snapped.

She rolled her eyes. “If it was anyone else, you would agree with me. While you didn’t go against protocol and had no time related incidents, the fact of the matter is, you were still distracted by this ‘rouge time traveler,’ didn’t complete your mission, and were arrested.”

“He was good,” Janus said. “You can’t fault me for that. He also could be dangerous and you’re busy handing out yellows instead of working to track him down.”

She raised an eyebrow. “We are working on tracking him down,” she said. “We have done an analysis on the mask and found fibers dating to the 2010s and some DNA. Though it isn’t exactly a high priority.”

“We have no idea who he is or what he’s planning to do. Why is that not a high priority thing?”

“At the moment?” she asked. “Because we have reports of a time bomb being activated.”

“What?” Janus asked sitting up. “When?”

“New Years Eve going into the year 3,000 in Brazil,” she said. “Which you’d know about if you’d bothered to check your integration port this morning before storming into my office.”

“It’s my mission?” Janus asked.

“The incident investigation is over and your active again despite the dreaded yellow,” she said, clearly making fun of him a bit. “So, yes, and it’s a high priority mission, so I’ll be running it.”

“Who all is going?” he asked.

“Other than the two of us, Remus, Lena, and Fred,” she told him. “We leave in three hours, so, you might want to run off to Rhi before Fred gets to her and ties her up for an hour on details.”

Janus nodded and got to his feet. He turned back at the door. “I still don’t deserve the yellow,” he hissed.

She waved him off. “I’ll see you in a few hours, Picani.”

He ground his teeth a bit about the dismissal of his worries, but his resentment was slightly soothed by the fact that she’d assigned him to go on such a high priority mission and with only senior agents.

He took the advice and grabbed Remus from the office, noting Lena hadn’t been able to wrangle Fred yet as she was still at her desk, and they both headed off to see Rhi.

A few hours later, they were all in decontamination together, decked out in truly god-awful costumes. The turn of the third millennia had been a wild event, and the best way to fit in was to look like you’d grabbed something from every century in recorded human history, dyed it in neon paint, and rolled around in a vat of glitter.

Remus had opted to stick his head in a vat of glow in the dark green paint that costuming had offered them, and it wasn’t even going to be slightly disruptive to their covertness.

In fact, costuming had frowned when Janus had insisted he not get his hair dyed and instead wore a bowler hat. They had required him to have flowers made out of glitter on it.

There were five people waiting for them when they landed 6 hours before the turn of the millennia. Three were touchdown agents, including Remy, and two were on location tech support. Usually it would be overkill to have that many people there just for support even with five agents in the field, but today the TPI needed to be cautious because they were planning on instituting a time lock.

Time bombs were dangerous things that would ripple through time if not contained. Even if it did end up going off (killing everyone in its reach), the time lock would serve to prevent most damage outside of the city and, more importantly, the year it was planted.

Janus had only been in two time locks before, and he was one of the most senior agents in the TPI, outranked only by the founder: Lia Khalid. Time locks were designed to keep all time linear in a certain fixed time and geographical area as well as prevent any time travel in and out. Once it was engaged, all forms of time travel would not work for the duration, bar the pin device. Khalid was already switching out her regular timepiece with the slightly bigger one that was designed to support the time lock.

There was a failsafe back at the TPI that could be engaged in an emergency, which was why tech support was here, but other than that, the only thing that could break the time lock was that timepiece, and it would break the moment the time lock ended.

As soon as it was on Khalid’s wrist, she looked up at them all. “Our information says the time bomb was planted in the costume of one of the ‘Millennium Birds’ who are the organizers of the different events,” she said. Janus had seen a photo of the identical costumes in the mission details. They were all robe like garments with giant fans of feathers coming from the neck that coalesced in a peak a foot above their head to hold a fake bird egg. At least they’d be easy to find. “There are 25 of them throughout the city. We need to find each of them. So, we don’t double count, you’ll need to subtly,” her eyes touched on Remus, “scan each one you find for the bomb and tag them with a tracker if it’s not on them. You can view the already tagged ones, as well as the rest of us on your timepiece even once the time lock is engaged. When you find the bomb, call it in.”

They all nodded, and Khalid looked over at one of the techies. She nodded at her and then the techie flipped a couple of switches. “Three, two, one,” the techie said. There was a slight shift in the air that most people would disregard, but Janus as a seasoned time traveler could feel the change even before his wrist buzzed. He glanced at his timepiece to see it had a big red ‘X’ across its display. He tapped it and was still able to bring up the map of the city with 10 green dots on it all clustered together in their current location.

After that, he tested the scanner on his timepiece that he would use to search for the bomb, just to make sure the time lock hadn’t messed anything up with his equipment. He glanced up to see everyone else was doing the same.

“Keep in contact,” Khalid said before everyone split up. Janus and Remus started by going North while Fredrick and Darlene were to go South. Khalid was a floater who would tag any Birds she saw but was mostly there for backup and orders.

Janus and Remus stepped into the chaos of New Years Eve before the turn of the third millennia. The streets were already swamped with people and it would only be getting worse the later it go.

“Where should we start?” Remus asked.

“Let’s go all the way North to the games area,” Janus said. “We can work our way back here.”

“Okay!” Remus said. “I wonder if they have those fun little genetically modified goldfish as prizes. I’ve always wanted to eat one and see if I end up getting whatever design was on the fish on my body.”

Janus gave him a disgusted look.

“What?! People eat fish all the time!”

Janus shook his head. “We’re not playing the games anyway. We have work to do. Important work.”

“Boo,” Remus replied. Janus chose to ignore him as he spotted one of the Millenia Birds letting people into the gaming area.

They walked over towards the entrance. Janus got in range first and moved to subtly scan the Millenia Bird, Remus doing the same the next moment. After a second, Janus’s timepiece buzzed and lit up red, meaning the bomb was within range. “Well, that was easy,” he said. “It was on the first one we found.”

“Uh…” Remus said. “Jan.” When Janus looked, he was holding up his wrist to show his green lit time piece.

“What?” Janus asked. He quickly moved to rescan the Millenia Bird, and his timepiece came up green as well. Which, meant the bomb was not in range, even though the Millenia Bird had not moved. “But…” He and Remus’s eyes met, and they quickly both started turning in a circle to look at the crowd around him. No one looked like they’d just stolen a time bomb off the Millennial Bird, but then Janus’s eyes caught on a man. He blended in perfectly to his surroundings. He was wearing the disgusting garb of the times, a large light blue piece that bubbled near his hips, and had most of his skin covered in rainbow neon paints. Yet, something about him, the curl of his hair or the way he moved, drew Janus’s eyes to him. He recognized the man immediately even in a completely different dressing style. Yet, what cinched it was the moment Janus’s eyes met his and they seemed to sparkle slightly in the afternoon sun. The next moment, the person Janus knew as Pat, turned to disappear into the crowd.

Chapter 7

“Him,” was the only thing Janus said before taking off after the figure who had just disappeared into the game area.

“What?” Remus’s voice followed after him. “Janus! What?!”

Janus did not pause, just continuing to run after Pat, hopping over two barricades as a shortcut. Janus cursed when he lost sight of the man for just a moment near the prize table filled with colorful goldfish, but he was able to spot him once again walking into one of the tents. Janus blasted into the tent. It was a game where they raced rats, and when Janus entered, Pat was cooing at one of them.

“Who’s a tiny little squishy precious baby?” he was asking one of them, wiggling his pointer finger at it.

“You,” Janus growled stepping up to him.

He turned and tilted his head at Janus with a frown. “Um, me?” he asked, pointing to his chest, all sorts of innocent, but Janus could see a spot of hidden amusement in his eyes.

“Where is it?”

His eyebrows drew together, but it was an act. It was clearly an act! “Where is what?”

“The…” he glanced around them at the people surrounding them. “Thing you just took.”

“I didn’t take anything,” Pat said with a frown.

“Oh, no,” Janus said. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fooling me twice is not an option.”

“I’m sorry sir,” Pat said. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bull. Shit.”

Just then, Remus jogged into the tent. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“It’s him,” Janus said pointing. “He took it. He has it.”

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about,” Patton said. He looked over to Remus with a confused frown.

Remus looked at Janus. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Janus said. “It’s him. It has to be him. He’s the mask guy.”

Remus squinted at Pat. “He is?”

“Whoever you think I am, I’m not. I haven’t worn a mask all night. I just did the face paint,” he pointed to his cheeks.

Remus raised his wrist and his timepiece lit up green. He looked at Janus.

“I lost sight of him for five seconds. He must have stashed it somewhere,” Janus said. He turned on Pat. “Where did you put it?”

“…Are you,” Pat asked, his eyes going back and forth between Janus and Remus, “… the police?”

“We are, actually,” Khalid said as she stepped into the tent. Remus must have called her. She inserted herself between Janus and Pat. “Agent Khalid,” she said, offering a hand with a smile. Pat looked at it in surprise and then smiled back hesitantly as he took it. “Apologizes, one of the big game prizes was stolen by someone matching your description. Would you mind coming down to security for questioning? Just to clear it up.”

“Oh,” Patton said, hesitant. Janus expected him to refuse outright, but then he said. “Uh, sure.”

“Thank you very much, Mr…”

“Jonas,” Pat told her earnestly. “Do I need to be handcuffed?”

“No,” Khalid said. Janus frowned at her, but she ignored him. “It’s just a talk for now.” She gestured to the tent entrance. “Come with us.”

He did without argument, and Remus and Janus followed behind the both of them. Khalid did not lead them back to the base, but to a little spot that said “security” near the center of the event. Remy was already there waiting for them at a desk.

“Remy, would you please take Mr. Jonas to go sit down?” she asked.

“Sure, boss,” Remy said, standing up. He led Pat away.

Khalid turned to Janus and Remus once they were out of earshot. “What is going on?”

“It’s the mask man,” Janus said, “the one from 1923, and my scanner said the time bomb was on the Millenia Bird outside the games entrance, but then it was gone the next second, and I saw him, and then he ran away.”

“So, does he have it on him?”

“No. I lost sight of him, and he must have stored it somewhere, but I know he took it.”

10264

“He’s the man from 1923?” she asked.

“Yes! Remus, that’s him, right? You recognize him.”

“Well,” Remus said thoughtfully. “He was in a mask, and it was dark in the room with the necklace. Other than that, I only really saw his back, and he was wearing pants. Mr. Jonas is wearing a dress, so I can’t really tell if their asses match.”

“Okay, but I was with him for hours. I swear it’s him, and I swear he took it,” Janus just about shouted.

“We’ll question him,” Khalid placated, “and Fred and Lena will keep looking in the meantime.”

“He knows where it is,” Janus insisted. “I swear.”

“Okay,” Khalid said, before leaving to follow where Remy and Pat had gone. She stopped Janus with a hand on his shoulder. “I think Remus and I will do the interrogation.” He opened his mouth to argue. “You know the most about him, so observe from the sidelines and see if he makes any mistakes that indicate you’re right.”

“That’s just to placate me and you know it.”

“Observation’s over there,” she said pointing.

He got a thumbs up from Remus as he walked by, and Janus glared at his back before walking off to the indicated location.

He watched as Remus and Khalid entered the room, and Remy left it. Remy joined him in the observation room after leaving and leaned against the wall.

Pat was sitting at a table and watched Remus and Khalid with that same rubbish placid confusion that he had before. “So,” Khalid said, “Mr. Jonas.”

“You can call me Nick,” Pat interrupted.

“Lia,” Khalid replied. He smiled at her happily. “So, are you enjoying your day?” she asked.

“I am!” he replied. “It’s a big day. You only get to see the turn of a millennia once in your life.”

“Ah, yes,” Khalid said. “Doing anything special for it?”

“Um, not really,” he said. “Other than the party. I’m going to meet up with my roommates after dinner. Kevin doesn’t like this sort of thing, and Joe couldn’t come.”

“Your roommates,” Khalid said, considering him. “Do you live around here?”

“Uh huh,” Pat replied.

“Do you have any ID?”

“I do, want me to get it?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

Pat unzipped one of the bubbles on his waist and handed her a chip. “Remus, would you mind going out and getting the ID scanner?” she asked, even though her timepiece would be able to read it.

“Ah, shit,” Remy said. “Props. What do those things even look like?”

As Remy scrambled to find something that would pass for an ID reader so “Nick” didn’t get suspicious of Khalid using her timepiece, Janus watched the two alone in the room like a hawk.

“I see you’re wearing a dress inspired by the 2770s,” Khalid noted, as Remus came to stand next to him.

“Yeah!” Pat replied. “Joe made it for me. He’s really good at fashion design!”

“Can I see?” she asked.

With a happy smile, he reached over the table to let her get a look of the sleeves. Janus saw her subtly scan the fabric, probably to make sure it was from the 2990s and not actually from the 2770s. Considering she didn’t mention it, Janus assumed it checked out.

Remy came back with some sort of device then and handed it to Remus who saluted and wandered back into the interrogation room. Khalid pretended to scan the ID in her hand. She handed it back to him without comment. “So, you said you live with your roommates: Joe and Kevin?” she asked.

“Yep!” he replied. “We’re practically like brothers.”

“Would you mind calling them?”

“Erm,” he titled his head like he was confused by the question. “Well, like I said, Joe is a bit busy, but I could definitely call Kevin.

“Here,” Khalid said, “use my phone.”

“I have my own,” he said with a frown.

“Humor me,” she requested.

“Uh, okay,” Pat agreed. He took the offered 2999 phone and dialed a number on it. Khalid reached over to put it on speaker.

“Hello?” a voice asked after a few seconds.

“Um, hey Kevin, it’s Nick.”

There was a sigh on the other end. “Hello Nick, is something wrong? Why are you calling me from someone else’s phone?”

“I’m fine, I think.” He looked up at Khalid. “Why am I calling him exactly?”

“Hello, I’m Officer Khalid,” Khalid said. “I just wanted to confirm that you are Nick Jonas’s roommate, and he does live in Manaus.”

“Yes, we live together with our other roommate,” the man replied flippantly. “Officer? Is something wrong?”

“I believe there was just a case of mistaken identity,” Khalid said.

“Bullshit there was!” Janus hissed, though she could not hear him.

“No need to worry,” Khalid continued.

“I’m good Kevin,” Pat said.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Kevin asked.

“Don’t be Paranoid, Kevin. I’ll see you Tonight for the New Years Celebration. You know I Live to Party.”

“I am hanging up now,” Kevin said.

“No! Comeback.” The line went dead. Pat handed the device back to Khalid.

She took it and smiled at him. “Give us just a couple of minutes,” she requested. He nodded easily, and she and Remus exited the interrogation room. “I… think we’re done here,” Khalid said.

“No, he’s lying,” Janus insisted, and got a dubious look in return. “I know he is! Remus!”

“The alibi is pretty solid…” Remus said, “and he doesn’t have the bomb on him.”

“Oh, come on,” Janus said. “You can’t say there is nothing fishy going on here.”

Khalid and Remus shared a look. “Janus,” Khalid said. “I respect your intuition. It is usually very good, but you have been a bit intense about the man from the 1920s, and I think that may be blinding you a bit...”

“I am not imagining this!” Janus said. “That’s him and he took it.”

“You only met him once while he was wearing a mask,” Khalid pointed out with a frown, “and you didn’t see him take the bomb, did you?”

“No, but he looked at me and I knew,” Janus argued. They both gave him a skeptical look. “Oh, come on!”

“You know that’s a little weak, Jan,” Remus said.

“Let me talk to him,” Janus requested. “Just give me five minutes to talk with him.”

Khalid raised one eyebrow. “Fine,” she agreed. “You have five minutes, but after that, you have to let it go. We can’t waste any more time.”

Chapter 8

Pat looked up as Janus stepped into the interrogation room. “Hi,” he said with an innocent smile that could cut steal.

Janus didn’t say a word as he took a seat; he just watched him intently. He leaned slightly over the table and steepled his fingers in front of his chin. “So, your name is Nick this time?” Janus asked.

“Nicholas Jonas,” he said. “Always has been.”

“Stop it,” Janus said.

“Stop what?”

“Cut the crap. I know.”

Pat leaned forward, mirroring Janus as he leaned closer, interlocking his fingers and laying his chin on top of his knuckles. “What did you say your name was again?” he asked, pleasantly.

“Janus,” Janus replied.

“No, I’m Jonas,” he said, pointing to his chest.

“Not Jonas,” Janus spat. “Janus.”

“Um,” Pat said, eyes alight with amusement. The bastard. “Those are the same words.”

“No, they’re not. It’s Janus. J-A-N-U.-S.”

“Well, that’s confusing,” Pat said with a frown, but his nose was crinkling. “It’s close to my name. You should go by a nickname instead.”

“What?” Janus said. “No.”

Pat hummed. “How about Love Bug?”

“What! No!” Janus sputtered, almost flipping the table, as Pat winked at him.

“BB Good?”

“What does that even mean?!”

“Mandy.”

“No!”

“Okay, okay, how about Macy Misa.”

11594

Janus stared at him for a moment. “Fine. Whatever. What was I even talking about?”

“Hmm. I Believe we were talking about my name and how you think it’s not my name.”

“Right,” Janus said. “So, Nick. That was your roommate, Kevin on the phone, right? He seemed a bit unhappy with you. Any reason?”

“Nah, we’re Cool” said Pat. “That’s Just the Way We Roll.”

“Not because you’re messing up a mission right now?”

Pat’s eyes crinkled together. “A mission?” he parroted. “I’m not messing up a mission.”

“Oh, really?” Janus growled. “Because you’ve been captured by the TPI, and I know who you are and what you’ve been doing.”

“I have no idea what the TPI is,” he claimed.

“Yes, you do!” Janus said, standing up. “You obviously do! Or you wouldn’t be playing this game!”

“Game?” Pat asked. “Macy I ask you what you’re talking about.”

“This is all just a game to you isn’t it!” Janus said, slamming his hands down on the table in front of them.

“Whoa,” Pat said, putting his hands up. “Calm down. Your face is getting all red. You must be Burnin’ Up.”

“I’m not sure what, but something about what you just said pisses me off.”

“And that is five minutes,” Khalid said, bursting into the room. He felt a tug on the back of his shirt and glared back at Remus who was putting his own body between Janus and Pat.

“There was no way that was five minutes,” Janus growled.

“It was five minutes,” Khalid gritted out. “Remus, get him out of here.”

“Come on Jay,” Remus said, dragging him back towards the door.

“Remus, I swear to god.”

“Just chill, Janus,” Remus said, slamming the door closed behind them.

Janus shrugged him off. “You chill!” he snapped. “He’s playing you all for the fool.”

“Wow, Macy,” Remy drawled like an asshole. “I’ve never seen you so fired up.”

“Oh, my gosh. No one is going to believe me, and he’s going to get away with this.”

“You’re not really helping your case, babe,” Remy said.

Remus grabbed him by the shoulders again. “Here, let’s go get some water.”

“I don’t want water,” he said even as he let Remus lead him to another room to get a glass of water.

“Look,” Remus said. “I know the Mask Guy thing really sucked, but you have to look at the facts.

“I am looking at the facts,” Janus insisted, “and the facts are, he’s fucking with me.”

“You don’t know what mask guy looks like,” Remus said. “You didn’t see Nick take the time bomb, he has an ID from this time period and a roommate in this time he called on the phone, and he legitimately seems to not know what any of us are talking about.”

“Did you even listen to our conversation?” Janus asked. “He was screwing with me the entire time!”

“Janus…” Remus said.

“What?” Janus said, narrowing his eyes at Remus’s tone.

“I know you recently had a bad experience, but not everyone who flirts with you is doing it out of evil.”

Janus’s mouth hung open for a few seconds. “That’s what you got out of our conversation?”

“He called you Love Bug.”

Janus felt his face heat a bit at the reminder. “That’s not… I. I’m stealing your cat and then never speaking to you again.”

Remus laughed. “Ah,” he said. “Young lust.”

Janus elbowed him roughly in the side. “No!”

“Yes!” he crooned, pleased.

#study break stories #not writing

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kingangelosi · 5 years ago

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A short Trevor/Ron fic where Trevor trained Ron on how to shoot. Despite my mediocre writing, I hope someone can enjoy the plot as much as I did.

Ron was practicing his shooting in Trevor backyard when Trevor returned from Oscar’s Airfield. Absorbed in his task, Ron barely noticed his presence so Trevor just stood there and observed quietly from a distance. Maintaining this silence became more and more challenging as he watched. Why is he wagging so much? What is this, a ballroom? The fuck is he doing slapping around an unlocked loaded gun, he should really count himself lucky that both of his balls are still hanging in place. It became too much to bear for Trevor after exactly half minute. He sneaked up on Ron and grabbed his wrist from behind, correcting his posture to borderline acceptable. Ron squealed a bit out of fright, shivering uncontrollably next to Trevor’s chest. Trevor ignored Ron’s usual panic and held his wrist firmly to steady the pistol. He leaned forward slightly to rest his chin on Ron’s collarbone, adjusting to a more comfortable angle, affably encouraging his loyal yet completely useless employee in his most ebullient tone.

“You know, Ronald, it’s about time I teach you how to shoot.”

“Th...Thanks? Trevor......I didn’t hear you back there......You started me.”

“Ah, don’t be nervous, Nervous Ron. It will be FUN! It’s not like I’m gonna put a bullet in ya head if you don’t put a bullet in that bottle. Now shut up. Just breathe relax and pull the trigger when I give you the order.”

Ron swallowed hard, Trevor’s hot puffs of breath against his neck and Trevor’s boney jawline in his shoulder. He can feel Trevor’s strong grip and his unique smell of gasoline and trash. Ron didn’t hate it at all, he took a deep breathe and tried his best to concentrate, but his head was a bit dizzy now. He wasn’t sure if it was the burning desert sun, or the moonshine he shoveled down his throat several hours ago, or even the radiation from aliens’ aircrafts and the surveillant drones from secret government agencies, it’s gotta be the last one. His fingers were now trembling, slipping in sweat. Frightened by the consequences of letting Trevor down, he shook even more. Oh boy. He couldn’t even gather himself to pull the trigger when Trevor ordered.

With a disgruntled growl, Trevor pressed on Ron’s index finger, pulling the trigger for him. For the first time ever, the bottle shattered at Ron’s gunpoint. Ron was too agitated to rejoice at this milestone, frozen in complete stiffness even though Trevor has already moved away from his back.

“Now it’s your turn, Nervous Ron. Time to make daddy proud. Nah forget it. Just careful not to shoot your own leg, alright?” Trevor tapped on Ron’s quivering shoulder in attempt to comfort him, which only made Ron even more nervous. He backed up a few steps to leave Ron more room, suspecting that Ron’s heart ain’t in this at all. He devoted all this time and patience to something and someone he doesn’t even care for, not even a whit. That ungrateful little brat!

With his last drop of patience dangling on the line and Ron consistently stretching it with his unbearably clumsy parody of an imitation, his aim that is all over the place, all those tremors as if he’s just out of a bar or off a fucking ICU bed, Trevor finally lost his temper when Ron emptied the entire magazine and none of the bullets landed anywhere close to the remaining bottle. He grabbed Ron by the collar, smashed his pistol to the ground and growled endless waves of tirade to Ron’s dumb face.

“The FUCK is wrong with you, huh? I wasted an entire hour on you and this is how you repay me? YOU MORON! Oh my god Ron you are SO FUCKING PATHETIC. Next time I spend time on you it will be on your FUCKING funeral you pathetic pitiful wretched excuse of a man! FUCK!”

“I’m sorry, T, you are absolutely right! I’m awful. I’m such a worthless loser. I’m the worst excuse......I’m so sorry, boss......” Appeasing Trevor is more of a conditioned reflex rather than conscious action at this point. Ron hadn’t completely snapped out of his woozy state yet, he wasn’t even attempting to protect himself from Trevor’s fury or wave his limbs around in fear as usual. Trevor gritted his teeth, shoved Ron to the ground and landed his fist on metal plank of the trailer instead of on Ron’s face. He stormed out of the yard after leaving the words “I’m out” and a still dazed Ron on the ground.

Ron sat on the ground in chagrin, crawled and dragged his bad knee to his gun to pick it up. He gently rubbed his fingers on his neck and shoulder where Trevor‘s face was against just a moment ago, ruminating on the rugged touch and the burning feel from both his neck and stomach.

He should have placed more target bottles. So that Trevor would help him a little bit longer with his aims. Ron thought.

#trevor philips #ron jakowski #trevor x ron #trevor/ron #trevor philips industries #gta5 #gta 5 #gta v #grand theft auto 5 #grand theft auto v

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ficsilike-reblogged · 5 years ago

Text

Sunshine City: Three

A/N: Thank you to everyone who read/reblogged/commented on the last chapter. You are all lovely and deserve a Whiskey of your own. This chapter still revolves around the plot of the film, so if you have any questions just let me know! I hope this little story can make you smile at least for a moment. My asks and DMs are always open.

Pairing: (Eventual) Agent Whiskey x F!Reader (No Y/N)

Word Count: 5.7k

Rating For This Chapter: T for guns, blood, injuries

Catch up on the Prologue, Chapters One, and Two here!

Y/N sat at the bar and ordered a cranberry juice.

Butterfly Guy was sitting with Eggsy, Whiskey, and a guy who insisted on being called Merlin in a booth near the window.

“Rough day, sugar?” Paula the bartender asked as she set down the cloudy glass filled with purple-red juice.

“Rough couple of days,” she muttered and handed over a handful of crumpled bills that Paula methodically straightened out before placing them in the till. Paula was basically an agent in her own right. She’d been part of the bar for nearly twenty years and since only Statesmen drank here and knew of its existence, they spoke freely about their work. She probably knew more classified intel than some junior agents.

“You sure I can’t get you anything stronger?” She asked, her bleach blonde hair swiping over her shoulders. “Something with a little more oomph?”

“Just the cranberry juice for now.” She smiled and sipped on the too-bitter drink and resisted puckering her lips at the taste. “But thank you.”

Paula nodded and cast a glance at the table where the agents sat. “You know, Whiskey keeps lookin’ over here.”

She ignored the twisting in her stomach and took a large gulp. “ ‘s just post-mission jitters.”

“Uh-huh,” Paula said with a roll of her eyes. “Sure. When a handsome man looks at me like that…” she drifted off with a raise of her eyebrows.

(But she wouldn’t deny that she noticed Whiskey looking at her a little more often. When they met up after she implanted the tracker in Clara, she noticed Whiskey kept turning away every so often, a hand tucked in his front pocket. It was a common gesture used by men to hide an erection, she knew that—she just didn’t believe he would have one at that moment. They were in the middle of a mission. There was no way he was hiding a boner. But the thought was fun.)

Thankfully, Agent Moonshine started hollering and she sighed into her drink and got up from her barstool and walked behind the bar.

Paula was watching the scene unfold like she hadn’t watched a million bar fights before and looked ready to piss herself. Sunny patted her on the shoulder and signaled for her to hide in the little cubby beneath the register.

The Butterfly Guy quickly made a fool of himself, trying to teach Moonshine and his buddies some manners and she leaned against the sticky bar to watch as Whiskey stood from his seat. It wasn’t the first time she would watch Whiskey kick Moonshine’s ass but it was always fun to witness.

And those tight jeans did wonders for his butt.

While she would never understand his affinity for his lasso or his whip, it was nice to watch him work (and to see Moonshine bleed a little).

As he finished, Moonshine and his hangers-on all unconscious or bleeding enough to keep them still, Whiskey adjusted his hat and let out a whistle. “I feel like a tornado in a trailer park.”

She snorted and finished her drink as Paula slowly came out from the cubby and gaped at the mess. “It looks like a tornado came through here, boss. I think you owe Paula another window.”

“And new glasses!” Paula said with a frown.

She patted Paula’s shoulder again with a promise that the window would be fixed within a handful of hours as the televisions switched from the football game and were overtaken by a wash of yellow and red with an obnoxious chime.

A woman draped in a horrendous yellow outfit with fiery red hair soon filled the screens. “Mr. President, my name is Poppy Adams. I believe the UN has no teeth. So I've selected you, as leader of the free world, to receive this communication. And I invite you to begin negotiations on the largest scale hostage situation in history. A few weeks ago, an engineered virus was released and contained in all varieties of my product: cannabis, cocaine, heroin, opium, ecstasy, and crystal meth.” Each line item popped up on the screen in a pretty font. Cap looked over to see Whiskey already looking at her, lips pulled into a frown. “Some of you are already infected. And this is what you can expect in the coming days. After a brief incubation period, victims present with stage one symptoms: a blue rash. Next, second stage symptoms appear: mania, as the virus enters the brain. Very distressing to the victim and those around them. Stage three: paralysis. Muscles enter a state of catastrophic seizure. And once the muscles of the thorax become affected, breathing becomes impossible.” She watched as one new victim after another was revealed on the screen until blood spurted out of the last man’s eyes and nose, dead for millions to witness. “This leads to a very nasty death within 12 hours. But I have good news to the millions already affected. It doesn't have to be this way. I have an antidote.” Poppy held up a clear vial filled with an amber liquid—and Elton John behind another glass wall.

“What have you done to me, you fucking bitch?” God bless Elton John.

Undeterred by Elton John’s outburst, Poppy continued, “100% effective and ready to ship out worldwide at a moment's notice. I will do this if the following conditions are met. First, you agree to end the war on drugs, once and for all. All classes of substance are legalized paving the way to a new marketplace in which sales are regulated and taxed just like alcohol. And second, my colleagues and I receive full legal immunity. Meet my terms. I look forward to helping you keep our beloved country great, boosting our ailing economy, and easing spending on law enforcement. Or continue this blinkered, outmoded, and, frankly, disastrous exercise in prohibition, and live with blood on your hands. Save lives. Legalize.”

The broadcast ended and the televisions screens quickly flipped back to the football game. Whiskey was at her side in a blink of an eye. His hand brushed down her back. “We gotta talk to Champ, Sunny.”

And that was how she found herself bundled in winter gear on an Italian mountainside. Clara had called Charlie, and thanks to the tracking device she had implanted at Glastonbury, they were able to pick up the conversation. Charlie told Clara (who was now covered in the blue rash) to meet him at the ski resort they’d visited last year so he could give her the antidote. The tracking device could pinpoint their exact location and everyone was betting that the Italian resort was one of the storehouses for the antidote.

But she was also wondering, once again, why she found Whiskey attractive. He was in a terrible blue and white snowsuit that had to have been made in the 1970s. And he still refused to take off his damned cowboy hat. She appreciated the dedication to his aesthetic but it still seemed…ridiculous.

And he’d been grating on her last nerve on the flight over.

Ginger had buzzed in and suggested that Cap be the one to retrieve the antidote because only Clara would recognize her as opposed to Charlie possibly recognizing Eggsy or Butterfly Man (who she was told to call either Galahad or Harry). Whiskey then laughed—loudly—and stated plainly that he would be planning the mission and Ginger should stick to her computers and gadgets. “It isn’t like ya have any experience in the field.”

She really thought about murdering her boss for the rest of the flight. Her plots to kill him only got more creative when he told her to stay at the safe-house when they landed.

She was tired. She was angry.

And that was probably why she finally snapped. “If you didn’t want me to come along, you could have just told Champ. God knows you don’t listen to anyone else.” She hefted her bag filled with her own weapons and ammo higher onto her shoulder and turned away from him, readying to hike up toward the house and stew in her lonesome until the three men returned—hopefully with the antidote in hand.

But his hand grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop before she could get very far. “That ain’t fair, Sunny.”

She pulled out of his grip with a poorly hidden snarl. “No. You’re not fair. To me. To Ginger. All because of some bullshit you think is right.”

“I’m trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need protection. I’ve been in this game a long time-”

“And I’ve been in it longer-”

“-and I can take care of myself. What you’re doing to Ginger is so fucking backwards I’m surprised you can see straight,” she hissed it out like a curse. “I’m tired, Whiskey. I’m so tired of watching her jump through hoops trying to get you to notice that she could outperform half the agents in the field and you want her stuck behind the desk until she dies. I’m tired of you thinking you know best in the field. Why do you even request me to go with you if you’re going to undermine me every step of the way?”

Whiskey’s mouth opened. Then closed.

Her shoulders slumped. Harry and Eggsy both looked like they were very interested in the calibrations of their earpieces and not listening to what just happened. God this whole situation was pathetic. They were trying to save the world and she was waffling between yearning and rage for her stupid boss. She trudged away in the snow toward the safe house and barely heard Whiskey say, “what are you lookin’ at, Butterfly Guy?”

But she continued on, up the mountain and found the small shack of a house and swept the perimeter before settling in. She comm’ed in only to say she reached the safe house. Eggsy responded cheerfully but she didn’t respond when Whiskey also chimed in with a, “good work, Sunny.”

Time ticked by.

There was a commotion on the other end of the comm line when Butterfly Guy wouldn’t respond—and then all she heard was Eggsy and Whiskey screaming. She rolled her eyes. They were so dramatic. But soon, the trio was making their way toward the safe-house and she didn’t bother to open the door when she heard them outside. They all hobbled in, mid-argument.

Eggsy pulled out a small vial and showed it to her with a smile she had to reciprocate. “You got it.”

“We did. A little dicey—Charlie recognized me.”

She glanced at Whiskey who frowned in return. It didn’t matter. Ginger had been right and now he knew it.

“Can I see it, kid?” Whiskey asked with his hand outstretched as he walked toward them. But then his dark eyes tracked to the window and widened. “Get down!” Whiskey all but tackled both Eggsy and her to the dusty ground of the house as bullets started to fly. Glass shattered. Wood splintered.

She watched, unable to do anything from her pinned position, as the small vial was all but knocked from Eggsy’s hand and shattered on the ground.

“You fucking dickhead!” Eggsy hollered as he scrambled out from under Whiskey to look over the spilled antidote, almost uncaring of the bullets whizzing by.

“Fuck you, I just saved your life!” Whiskey retorted.

“Yeah, and cost millions of people theirs!”

She had to slap at Whiskey’s thigh to get him to move off her and she rolled off into the corner when he did. The rain of bullets stopped for a moment and she looked out the window. “They’re reloading.”

Whiskey nodded. “All right, I'll fix their wagons. Cover me, boys!” And then he all but bolted out of the house, guns blazing.

With a roll of her eyes, ignoring how Whiskey had told the ‘boys’ to cover him, she followed suit and ran out into the snow, pulling her guns out from their holsters. The shootout was nothing she hadn’t seen before and, while she didn’t have all the flair most of the Statesmen agents had, she could mow down people just as efficiently. (The acrobatics the Statesmen and Kingsman agents seemed so fond of really just seemed…excessive.)

Whiskey went through the left flank so she went through the unlucky men on the right.

It was easy pickings, really. Despite the heavy artillery and uneven numbers, it was almost too simple of a gunfight. But the adrenaline rush was nice. It had been too long since she had felt her heart beat this fast. Bullets were flying by her head as she dove behind a tree and then twisted to shoot down the other man. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Whiskey pull out his electric lasso and then cut a man in half who came out with a knife.

“Fucking ridiculous,” she muttered as she stood, lowering her guns and quietly thankful that Whiskey wasn’t hurt.

There was a single gunshot and she froze. A familiar cold crept up her torso and one last man stepped out from the tree line with his gun raised right in her direction. The barrel smoked. But his eyes were wide like he couldn’t quite understand that he’d actually managed to shoot her. With a snarl, she pulled her guns up again and fired twice, painting the trees and snow behind him in a spattering of red.

“Sunny!” Whiskey yelled as he spotted her.

She pressed a hand to her stomach and felt the terrible, wet warmth soak her palm. She holstered her guns again and stepped out to look at him, turning ever so slightly to hide the blossoming red from him. “We’re good.”

“You should’ve stayed in the house.”

“You needed back up!” She said, marching toward the house despite feeling her legs shake. Pressing against the wound only made bile rise in her throat.

“The kid and Butterfly Guy-”

“It’s over, boss. Let’s just-”

Whiskey suddenly grabbed at her waist and all but threw her into the house and she nearly lost her footing. She barely had time to recognize the pain suddenly roaring through her system as the adrenaline started to fade.

“Troop carrier coming in. And I’m out of ammo—whaddya got?” He asked, pointedly looking at Eggsy and Harry.

But they were both looking at Whiskey’s hand.

He slowly raised it to his face and saw it covered in blood. His head snapped to the side to look at her. “Sunny?”

Her knees finally buckled and she hit the weathered wood. She shakily caught herself with her other hand, feeling blood slip between her fingers. She coughed and watched as blood splattered against the wood.

“They’ve got Gatling guns!”

Whiskey was yelling. Bullets whizzed by. And the beat of her heart started to drown out everything else.

“Harry, no!” She barely heard Eggsy shout.

And then, in her quickly-hazing vision, she watched Whiskey’s body crumple to the floor beside hers. She reached out a bloody hand toward him without thinking, pressing crimson-colored fingers against his face as if that would stop the bleeding.

“He broke the vial on purpose, Eggsy. If we made it out of here, he was gonna kill us both!”

The world went dark.

The sterile scent of HQ’s medical wing was a welcoming aroma as her eyes opened.

“There you are.” Ginger leaned over her with a soft smile. “How ya feeling?”

“Tired.”

“No pain?” She asked as she helped Cap sit up slowly.

“A bit tender—but I know what feeling shot in the chest feels like so I would prefer this.” She pulled at the bland, cotton-blend shirt she was dressed in and saw her stomach covered in a bit of gauze and tape. Despite Ginger telling her not to, she pulled at the coverings to reveal the mostly-healed bullet wound and then pushed back into the pillows. It looked like it had already been healing for weeks instead of a day or two. Statesmen truly knew how to patch someone up. But then a thought struck her. “Where’s Whiskey?”

And Ginger’s soft, answering smile calmed her suddenly clenching heart. “He’s in the next room over, Cap. He’ll wake up soon. Eggsy gave him the Alpha Gel and it worked like it was supposed to.”

She pushed out a long breath through her nose and nodded. “Good. That’s good.”

Ginger’s watch beeped. She looked at the small screen and sighed. “I will be back. Don’t get into any trouble, okay?”

“I promise nothing.”

Ginger chuckled, having heard that answer many times before, and let herself out of the room.

She let herself stew for a moment (it was really about an hour). Her life had really gone off the rails since Vegas. It was one thing to secretly harbor amorous thoughts about your boss. It was another to scream at him, get shot, and then see him get shot after seeing him (possibly) thwart any efforts to get the antidote and save millions of people. And she had a chance to say something to Ginger. But she didn’t.

Hm.

She carefully slid off the bed and winced when a bolt of pain zig-zagged through her body as her feet touched the cold floor. Shuffling over to the door, she peered out into the hallway and then stepped out. Whiskey’s holding room was only a few footsteps away.

Should she go in? But then what would she say?

Should she just go back to her room and pretend she was unconscious the entire time and remembered exactly nothing from Italy? But what was she trying to forget anyway?

But, thankfully, Eggsy found her in the middle of the hall and broke her rambling thoughts. He pocketed his phone and looked a bit worried as he noticed her. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Better than I should be after being shot. You?”

He started to nod but then shook his head. “My girlfriend…she, uh, she’s got the blue rash.” He rubbed at his forehead.

“You care about her. Probably more than you should, right?” That was easy to see. Eggsy was a good kid, probably a little too easy to read. “Especially in this line of work.”

“You get it—Kingsmen aren’t allowed to have attachments. And I…” he tried to grasp at the words he needed, “love her.”

“Statesmen doesn’t have that rule. Probably because we’re very bad at following any sort of guideline anyway.” She shrugged and regretted the movement as it pulled at her wound. “But that means you’ve got less than 12 hours. You got a plan?”

Eggsy quickly explained that they had been able to trace Poppy’s location to Cambodia and they were heading out there now. But his eyes quickly widened as he realized he had just revealed a plan to a potentially dangerous adversary.

“Relax, Eggsy. I’m not the one you shot in the head.” She waved him on. “Go. Save the world. Look out for landmines.”

“Landmines?” Eggsy parroted, face scrunching into a confused frown.

“If Poppy’s as crazy as I think she is, I wouldn’t be surprised if she has nonsense like that. Who knows? Maybe she has a fleet of man-eating robots, too.”

“What are you on about?”

She shook her head. “I’ve seen some stuff. Don’t worry about it.”

He smiled and started to walk away. “You should come to London when this is all over. I’ll get you a drink!”

She smiled a bit and watched him disappear around a corner before her eyes once again drifted toward Whiskey’s door. “…fuck.” Against her better judgement, she walked up and let the door glide open without a sound. The room was quiet. Whiskey was motionless on the bed, face still covered by the machine to help the Alpha Gel finish its work. His vitals were steady, displayed on large screens across the wall.

He would be fine.

She slipped gingerly into a chair near the bed and resisted the urge to reach out and touch his hand. He just looked so…vulnerable. It was so unlike him. An angry, terrible twisting pulled at her chest. “I’m not sorry I yelled at you, you know.” She wasn’t sure why she was talking to him but the words kept coming anyway. “You need to let Ginger out in the field. She’d be a better agent than me. I don’t know why you’re… I don’t understand you at all, actually. I wish I did, I think. I wish I could understand you and why you do things and say things. I wish I could understand why you make me feel so stupid.”

Maybe being this close to death—again—was making her sentimental. Or maybe the pain medication was making her crazy.

Probably the second option. Hopefully, anyway.

The door opened again and Ginger stepped in. “I knew I’d find you in here.”

“How’d you figure that?”

Ginger gave her a look but didn’t answer. “It is about time we wake him up. You remember how it’s like, right?”

She nodded. She had heard stories about how most agents needed a ‘reminder’ of a traumatic event to bring them back to the present and how their minds could be a bit foggy for a few days after, but she had never seen it in person. But she basically knew what to except--right?

With a flip of a few switches, the machine receded and Whiskey’s eyes opened. He was up and off the bed with a spring in his gait that had her laughing as he gave some terrible pick-up line to Ginger. But the laugh drew his attention and his body went rigid as his eyes landed on her. “Sunny.”

She felt tension she didn’t realize she was holding leech from her shoulders as he smiled at her. “Hey, boss.”

Ginger tucked something back in her pocket and her smile seemed to reach her ears. “I’ll leave you two…alone. But I’m just outside if you need anything.” She then scurried out and left her alone with Whiskey and her hammering heart.

“Sunshine.” The new nickname was all but crushing to her heart, caving in her chest.

She waved him back to the bed and told him to rest before she curled her fingers around his hand. It was warm and calloused and, as cliché as it sounded, seemed to fit hers perfectly. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been shot in the head.”

She almost laughed and her other hand carefully pushed his still-impeccably styled hair away from the bandage covering a small bit of his temple. “Yeah. You look great for a dead man, though.”

“That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” But he said it with a smile and squeezed her hand. “Say it again.”

“You look great.” And her smile grew, heart a little lighter.

He huffed out a laugh but then a long silence stretched between them. She looked away from his dark eyes but didn’t pull her hand away from his, fearing he’d disappear if she did.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Sunshine?” He squeezed at her hand until she looked at him again.

“I’m okay. They fixed me up just fine. A new scar for the collection.”

His smile slowly dropped and he placed his other hand over hers, too. “I saw you drop. You were bleedin’ out and I-”

“I saw you get shot, too, you know. Butterfly Guy has an interesting way of showing he doesn’t trust someone.” She shook the thought away. Harry’s brain was scrambled, too. “I’m just happy you’re okay. Your brain might feel a bit funny for a day or two, but I’ll be here.”

“Where are they now? The Brits?”

“They’re on their way to Cambodia. They think they’ve found Poppy’s base.”

Whiskey all but yanked his hands from hers and threw his legs over the side of the bed before standing on his long legs. She quickly stood too, chair clattering backward. “We’ve gotta go. Tell Ginger to get the Silver Pony on the runway.” He started toward the door before she grabbed at his arm.

“Boss, c’mon. You need to rest-”

“I need to make sure that bitch doesn’t get what she wants.”

She was scrambling then, hands pawing up his arm to grasp at his face. Her heart was in her throat as she looked at him. His dark eyes looked so cold. Unfocused. She knew the Alpha Gel could scramble someone’s brain as it physically repaired it, pushing them into old habits and thoughts and fears. She knew Whiskey wasn’t thinking right at the moment—no matter how soft he had been with her moments ago, this wasn’t her Whiskey. Her mouth went dry. Thoughts raced by as the pit she had felt growing in her stomach expanded to an abyss. She knew what he’d been through. The death of his wife at the hands of some coked-out druggies was an open secret. And she knew her own grief, dealt with it in her own way—not all of it healthy, she knew. But she had to try. She knew the look of a man who wanted vengeance no matter the cost—and, right now, the cost was millions of lives. “Do you know why I don’t drink?”

“We don’t have time for this,” he said as he pulled out of her grip.

“Drunk driver plowed into my dad’s car. I was at the local pool with some friends and Dad piled everyone in to pick me up so we could get ice cream after. They never made it.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Do you think I hold it against everyone who likes to put a little something extra in their coffee? Likes to have a little liquid courage to talk to the cute guy across the bar?”

Whiskey’s face twisted and his eyes seemed to dilate before he scrunched them shut. A shaking hand pushed through his hair.

“I work at a distillery for a man named Whiskey.”

Another silence stretched between them. She would swear he could hear her heartbeat in the quiet of the room.

A careful hand reached out to touch his wrist, too afraid to do much else. “Stay,” she whispered. “Stay with me.”

And his eyes finally opened.

Champ smiled and congratulated them on a job well done. It was a week since the entire Golden Circle situation had been handled. Tequila was well. Whiskey’s mind was clear. And their profits had never been higher.

Merlin, Harry, and Eggsy were standing at the end of the table and each held a glass of amber liquid as everyone raised a toast. Whiskey was sitting across from his Sunny, golden glasses perched on the edge of his nose. He probably should have been listening to what was Champ was saying but all he could see was how she licked her lips after taking a sip of her cranberry juice.

Statesmen, knowing an ally when they saw one, had purchased a distillery in Scotland. It was the perfect guise to help Kingsman rebuild and keep their money looking “clean.” Yes, he should have listened.

Because the Kid opened his mouth and said Kingsman needed more agents.

“I think Ginger would be a great Kingsman,” Sunny said with a smile.

Ginger, tucked into a corner a drink of her own, smiled in return. “I…”

“Agreed,” Whiskey heard himself saying. And he quickly realized that he meant it.

Ginger’s eyes went wide and she nearly sloshed the entirety of her drink across her shirt.

Champ laughed. “Alrighty then. Ginger Ale, well, I guess you’ll get a new code name, won’t ya?”

But the Kid’s smile widened. “And I was thinking Cap could come, too.” He turned to her and shrugged a shoulder. “Whaddya say, Cap? I’ll show you the real London.”

Whiskey looked at her, feeling like someone had shoved their fist down his throat. Don’t go. Don’t leave.

“I always wanted to be a knight of the round table.”

The men at the end of the table cheered again and Ginger walked over to knock their glasses together.

And while everyone continued to pat themselves on the back for completing the mission, all he could feel was cold.

The revelry eventually died down and Whiskey found himself the last one seated at the table. Everyone else filtered out to ready for the next mission—or the move to London. It was just him and Champ. The older man plopped down in the seat beside him and refilled his empty glass.

“London is only a few hours by plane from New York.”

He took a long pull from his glass.

“I’ve never known you to wait for something you wanted, Whiskey. But sure seemed to drag your ass on this one.”

“What are you talkin’ about, Champ?” He finally asked after another large gulp of alcohol.

But Champ just shook his head with a throaty chuckle. “You two are a mess.”

Royal weddings were…an event, she was finding.

After nearly losing Princess Tilde to the Golden Circle, Eggsy actually proposed. And with Harry now known as Arthur and presiding over Kingsman, the rules changed. Attachments were allowed. And because Tilde knew his fellow Kingsman were like Eggsy’s family, they were invited to the wedding. A handful of Statesmen, too. It had been a year since Poppy’s demise in Cambodia and the world was (mostly) at peace. Kingsman managed to salvage quite a bit from the wreckage of their former bases and Statesmen funded the rest of their necessary rebuilds. It was slow-going, and a handful of new agents were still finding their footing after graduating from the selection process.

“Please tell me Tequila is not wearing jeans,” she muttered.

Ginger, now known as Agent Percival, rolled her eyes with an affectionate smile as she spotted the jean-clad man amid the rest of the American crowd. “I could but that would be a lie.” She paused. “But Whiskey certainly dressed for the occasion.”

She leaned forward just the slightest bit to see Whiskey dressed in a fine tuxedo. “Is that one of ours?”

Ginger hummed. “He came in a few days ago for a fitting.”

She swallowed the saliva filling her mouth and turned back to watch Eggsy nervously fidget with his cufflinks at the end of the aisle. “Looks good.”

The ceremony finished after the vows and a bit of perfunctory reading and singing before the guests were all chauffeured over to the reception space at the royal palace. “You know, Merlin told me that you and Whiskey are quite fond of using emojis in your emails,” Ginger said as dinner was cleared away and dessert started to be served.

Her glass of water nearly slipped from her grip as embarrassment washed over her. “I was told those were private.”

“Nothing’s private in our line of work,” Ginger said with a pat to her hand. “But you haven’t really explained what is going on between you two.”

She rubbed at her temples. How could she possibly explain that she knew Whiskey, while his brain was still scrambled, wanted to let everyone infected with the Blue Rash die? How could she explain that she, despite all that, missed his smile and stupid mustache? Missed how he had terrible pick-up lines that always made her roll her eyes? Missed how she always seemed a little lighter whenever he would waltz into her office in New York?

Their constant contact devolved away from work and missions and into their private lives. He would ask after Bela and she would ask him to tell her about the view from his office window. It was now a strange sort of friendship that she treasured and protected despite how they hadn’t seen each other in person in over a year. She had taken the position at Kingsman, took the code name Agent Mordred, moved to London. It should have been a clean break. She could have kept their communications purely professional. But she didn’t. She just couldn’t truly let him go.

But on the outside, she shrugged as her hands dropped away from her face.

“It looks like I’ll be able to see for myself because he’s on his way over here.”

Her head snapped up at the sound of Ginger’s smug tone and, sure enough, Whiskey was on his way over, walking through the dancing crowd and wandering guests, right toward their table.

“But oh no. Would you look at that, I need more champagne.” Ginger then scampered off and left her alone.

Whiskey easily took Ginger’s vacated seat and smiled at her. “Hey, Sunshine.”

“Hey, bos-Whiskey.”

He chuckled at her slip. His head tilted to the side as he looked at her, eyes trailing down her form and she resisted a shiver like a teenaged girl but was silently thankful for the designer dress that fit her like a glove in a soft blue silk. “You look good.”

“You too.” And he did. The tuxedo was impeccably cut and the darkest black. A pristine white shirt was held back with a matching cummerbund and a black bowtie was slightly crooked around his neck. She reached out and straightened it.

He reached up to keep her hand pressed against his chest with a small smile. “I miss you.” It was whispered like a secret.

“We talk every day.” But she didn’t pull her hand away.

“ ‘s not the same and you know it.” He squeezed her hand. “Dance with me?” Wordlessly, he led her out onto the dance floor and pulled her close.

His expensive cologne made her mind swim but she resisted the urge to rest her cheek against his shoulder despite every nerve in her body telling her to do so. The music was slow, soft, and romantic. The lighting was low and accentuated by flickering candles that danced across the golden walls of the royal ballroom. If she could let herself remember anything—it would be this moment. Held in the arms of the man she loved even if it was just for a tiny sliver of time.

“I never thanked you, you know.”

“For what?”

“Saving me. My head was a mess—even before Butterfly Guy put a bullet in it. It took me a while but I…” He shook his head. “You’ve given me a second chance.”

She cocked her head to the side with a smile. “To save the world?”

Whiskey’s smile was small and his cheeks reddened the slightest bit but his dark eyes never left her face. His grip on her hand and waist tightened the slightest bit. “A second chance at everything.”

She chuckled and ignored how her chest tightened. Reading into it would only make it hurt.

A/N: Thank you for reading!

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @spookyold-saintjm @honestlystop @paryl @fioccodineveautunnale @lackofhonor

#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey imagine #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels imagine #agent whiskey #kingsman the golden circle

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