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…this makes me happy

“Cas, you got your ears on?”  Dean squeezed his eyes shut, whispering to himself as he paced the treeline.  “Cas, come on… I need you, man.” 

“Who are you talking to?”

Opening his eyes, Dean sighed, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled at Mary.  At his mom.  “Just wait, mom.  You’ll see.”


Dean spun on his heels, finding himself nose-to-nose with Cas.  He didn’t have time for words before he was in Cas’s arms, nearly crushed by the strength of the angel’s embrace.  “Hey, Cas,” he whispered, letting himself lean into it.  He let himself bury his face against Cas’s neck.  

“You’re alive.”  Cas was near tears as he clung to Dean, his fingers gripping the hunter’s shirt.  

“I’m alive.”  Sighing, Dean forced himself to pull back ever-so-slightly to look at Cas, let himself get lost in that breathtaking blue for a moment, as he had so many times over the years.  “How did you find me?  I don’t even know where the hell I am.”

Cas smiled, sliding to Dean’s shoulder.  “Well, we do share a more profound bond.” 


Turning, Dean took a step back from Cas, smiling proudly.  “Mom… this is Castiel. Cas….  He’s… He’s my…” He paused, looking at Cas, his hand still gripping the angel’s arm.  “Angel,” he finished.  “Cas, this is my mom, M–”

“Mary.”  Cas stepped out of Dean’s grip, making his way toward Mary.  Smiling, he reached out for her hand, squeezing it gently.  “It’s good to see you again, Mary.”

Again?” Dean’s brow drew together in confusion.  “What do you mean again?” 

Mary looked to her son and sighed, a gentle, sweet smile tugging at her lips. When she smiled, Cas could always see where Dean’s beautifully charming smile came from.  “Castiel came to visit me sometimes.  He let me know my boys were okay.  That they had a guardian angel watching over them.”  She squeezed Cas’s hand, and touched Dean’s cheek with the other.  “That my boys were loved.  By so many, and so much, but by no one more than him.” 

Doodle thing with blurb!

Time being around 1931, after Roy Mustang reaches the position of Fuhrer in 1928, Ed’s SSDAS is moved to governmental installations next to the headquarters in Central. It was hard to find them a space of their own but after a whole bureaucratic process it was finally achieved. Moving everything -read researches, machinery, books and experiments- while maintaining their productiveness up was probably the hardest part.

During this year too, the SSDAS is declared officially a governmental institution and its members are given proper statues as such (in equivalents to military ranks).


Bond/Vesper for rarepair week aka 600 words of Bond being sad

this is so self-indulgent i’m almost ashamed


The night of Vesper’s death, Bond checks himself into a seedy hotel in the heart of Venice.

The door closes behind him and he’s alone in the dark, the only sound the rasp of his breaths. It is more silence than he’s had for days and his head pounds with the urge to fill the air with something less oppressive.

Ves—the lying bitch, Bond reminds himself viciously—loved to talk. To tease him about his tastes in clothing and fashion. To discuss the morning news over a cup of espresso and tell him about whatever new book she was reading at the time. Bond remembers that she’d been in the middle of one that morning, now abandoned forever on the nightstand. He can’t for the life of him remember its name.

Already, parts of her are fading.

The new hotel is a far cry from the luxurious suite they had shared only hours before. Wallpaper peeling and black with mold. Dead flies on the windowsill. Bed reeking of cigarettes and mildew. The young man at reception had given him the key with stern admonitions of “no drugs and no hookers here, we’re not that kind of establishment.” Bond doesn’t grace him with a reply. He needs to be here, away from the bed where he’d woken up next to her, where tendrils of her hair still cling to the pillows—

her hair around her head like a halo, swept about by the waves that crash down all around them

Bond grunts and pours himself a glass of whisky from the dusty bottles that line the counter. The first gulp goes down easy as water, his tongue not even registering its burn. The second and third follow. After the fifth, he begins to drink directly from the bottle.

It’s not enough. He still remembers.

peeling back her eyelids and wishing he hadn’t because they’re so lifeless, and this is nothing like those others he’d killed, this isn’t the way he wants to remember

How M would snarl at him now. Sorry excuse for an agent, if he can’t even keep his wits and his heart where they belong. He takes another sip, just to be spiteful. So what if White’s men find him? So what if they have the treasury’s money? So what if she’s—?

The empty bottle explodes with a satisfying boom when he throws it against the wall. Bond clenches his hand around the gun at his side.

Let them come. He’ll raze every single one of them to the ground.

It’s late and his eyes are sore, but he clings stubbornly to the tendrils of waking. If he doesn’t fall asleep then it is still today, and if it’s still today then she’s alive, even if that time pulls slowly away from him as the hours march on.

He closes his eyes for just a second and sees her reaching out for him. Mouth open as if to confess something. Mouth so cold as he tries desperately to breathe life back into her, even when they start tasting of blood.

Did it hurt? He wants to ask. Did you regret pulling away, even as the heavy water filled your lungs? Did you wonder if it could have turned out differently, if you’d only told me the truth?

“I hope it did,” he says out loud.

I hope you died knowing that I still loved you, he doesn’t say.

The room is spinning now, his head dizzy and his hands burning with the last time she touched him. Tomorrow, he can be double-oh seven again. But tonight, alone in this no-name room, James grieves.


Prompt: Bond and Alec as space pirates.

Written for the SFW Sunday prompts (late because I was in New York this weekend and was pretty dead on Sunday). Enjoy!

The doors to his cell hiss open in a cloud of mist. Alec sits up and squints at the dim figure silhouetted in the frame.

“Aren’t you a little short to be a stormtrooper?” Alec asks, brightly.

Bond, his best friend—ex-best friend, because loyalty only goes so far when you’re an intergalactic criminal wanted for high treason—scowls at him. “Nice to know your sense of humour is still intact.”

“Call it gallows humour. I plan to keep you all groaning all the way to the guillotine.” It’s only a partial exaggeration. Alec doubts they’d resort to such primitive measures, but he has no doubt that they plan to make as much of a spectacle of his execution as they can.

“Shut up, you complete twat,” Bond sighs, and tosses him a plasma gun. His plasma gun. Alec runs his thumb over the scratched initials in the muzzle and the dent from when he got piss drunk and tossed it at the French commander’s airship. The memory of that night, rowdy and joyful with his fellow recruits, sends a lump into his throat.

He smiles at James to disguise the wave of melancholy that washes over him. “Why James, old boy, are you defecting?”

Keep reading
Pharmakeia - releasetheglitch - James Bond (Craig movies) [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 6/?
Fandom: James Bond (Craig movies), London Spy
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: James Bond/Q, Danny Holt/Alex Turner
Characters: James Bond, Q (Bond - Craig movies), Danny Holt, Alex Turner (London Spy), Q’s Cat(s)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Magic, Witchcraft

New town, new life. Q just wants to live a quiet existence, tinker with his spells, and maybe (just maybe) work up the nerve to ask out the gruff florist with the gorgeous blue eyes. Danny just wants to get his powers under control.

But the past never stays in the past for long. Because there’s someone coming after the twins, and he won’t stop until Danny is dead…

Sixth chapter posted, a bit behind schedule (or ahead of schedule, depending on how you look at it!) Regular posting resumes next week, but until then, enjoy!