#percilotwin

[amblingandshambling]

Percilotwin Excerpt

This is an excerpt from my incomplete Percilotwin firsts story.

Eggsy looked at the phone in his hand with a great deal of concern. He had went out to the pub for a drink with Ryan after coming back from a pretty crazy mission that had taken longer than expected. The text just read Sick all of a sudden. Come home. Want you. He was concerned, since Alastair tended to text in complete sentences most of the time. James had left on a mission the day before, so he was home alone.

He made his apologies to Ryan, who waved his apologies off, completely understanding the situation, and texting back On my way. Need me to get anything?

He was halfway home, and just going past the store when another text came in. Ginger ale. Soup. Saltines.

Eggsy winced. Those types of food were synonymous with a stomach bug. He texted back At the store now. Will be there in a few.

He made his purchases in record time, and, by taking a few detours of questionable legality, was walking through the door of their flat within fifteen minutes of his last text.

He came in to a miserable-looking Alastair lying on the couch, an empty bin in front of him. “Hey,” Eggsy whispered, laying a hand on his forehead, furrowing his brow in concern at the heat he felt. “Have you thrown up yet?”

“No,” Alastair replied, looking at the bin with dread. “Wish I would, though, just to get it over with.”

&

“That’s the shittiest part,” Eggsy said sympathetically as he went and changed. He then positioned himself on the sofa to where Alastair could rest his head on Eggsy’s lap, and Eggsy could stroke his hair while he dozed, feeling too nauseous to really fall asleep.

It was nearly an hour later when Alastair made a grab for the bin, moaning due to the pain in his stomach. He felt horrible, and just wished for the whole ordeal to be done and over with. He felt Eggsy’s hand on his back as he coughed over the bin, wishing that he would just throw up already.

After a few unproductive heaves, he fell back onto the couch, wrapping his arms around his stomach. He felt Eggsy resume stroking his hair. It was comforting, knowing that he wasn’t alone. “You’ll catch this,” he ground out miserably, giving Eggsy the opportunity to run if he so chose.

“And you’d take care of me if I did,” Eggsy replied quietly, a gentle smile in his voice.

[amblingandshambling]

Sunday Six (a bit different this time)

I am posting three Sunday Sixes this week. One is an excerpt from the novel that I am working on, the second is from the percilotwin fanfic that I am working on, and the third is an excerpt from chapter seven of “What Was, Is, and Will Be”.

(Original Novel–I don’t have a title yet.)

“Do you have any children?” Caitra asked Rulan as they watched Bastien finally properly sleep, now that his fever had broken. He had been ill for almost three days before he had finally been able to keep down some broth and his fever had broken.

A terribly sad and lost look came across Rulan’s face. “None living, Caitra. I lost my wife and three children nearly two decades ago. Marya was ten, and Edrea was almost seven when the plague took them. My wife, Nemora, survived, but it weakened her, and she and another daughter that I named Katya died in childbirth a few weeks later.” He looked wistfully at Caitra. “You remind me of Nemora, in a platonic way, and Bastien is the closest thing to a child that I have now.”

Caitra laughed, though not unkindly. “It seems that we have cobbled together our own family of sorts, doesn’t it?”

“That we have, Caitra. That we have.” He smiled at her. “I rather think it’s a good one.”

“As do I.” She gently pushed a lock of hair back away from Bastien’s face, then kissed him on the forehead.

“Get some sleep, Caitra,” Rulan said. “You’ve scarcely slept since Bastien fell ill, and that can’t be good for the baby. I’ll keep watch.”

(percilotwin fic–no title yet)

The thing about first kisses is, that even when they’re expected, they’re unexpected. Such was the first kiss between Eggsy and James.

It was a Tuesday morning, and they had been on a mission together for two days, the first since James, Eggsy, and Alastair had ultimately decided to pursue an actual relationship with each other. They had been taking it slow as far as physicality went, though they did hug and casually touch each other much more frequently than friends would.

The first day after Eggsy and James had arrived at the house they were using for the duration of their mission, they had both been too exhausted and jet-lagged to do much more than establish their cover with the neighbors as a couple that had been together for a couple of years that had moved there temporarily for Eggsy’s (or Jonathan’s, as they told the neighbors)  work as a writer. James managed to give off the air of aging-playboy meet indulgent-boyfriend, and the neighbors were already eating it up. Well, that, and grocery shopping.

Eggsy was standing at the refrigerator, examining the contents, trying to decide what to fix for breakfast. He already had the coffee pot going, but had no idea beyond that.

He started as he felt a pair of arms slip around his waist and a head drop on his shoulder, but the mumbled, “Good morning, love,” made him relax.

“Morning, babe,” Eggsy responded, clasping the arms around his waist with genuine affection. “What do ya want for breakfast? Can’t decide what I wanna fix.”

(excerpt from chapter seven of “What Was, Is, and Will Be”)

There was a body in the woods, and it was making even seasoned officers queasy. The manner of death was one never before seen, though undeniably messy.

"Don’t look,” Peter ground out as Endeavour came down the hill.

"What?” He looked over at Peter, and fortunately not at the body at the base of the hill.

"Don’t look. I’m wishing I hadn’t,” he replied between clenched teeth, trying to keep his stomach under control. Even Thursday looked vaguely revolted. DeBryn looked to be a cross between irritated and intrigued as to how the manner of death was even physically possible.

The body was lying at the bottom of the hill, limbs splayed in all directions. There were blood and entrails everywhere, some even flung into the branches of nearby trees, but no visible way for them to have been removed from the body. The frozen expression on the male victim’s face was one of absolute terror.

"There is no possible way that this death was normal by any definition,” DeBryn was saying to Thursday. “There are no visible holes through which,” he looked up as a couple of officers broke away from the group to throw up, “the internal organs could be removed.” He looked over as Endeavour displayed the sense enough to sit down, pointedly avoiding looking at the scene.

,

[amblingandshambling]

Well, here we are.

I finished and posted my HSS fic. It clocked in at just under 2k, and I hope that my recipient likes it. I'm a little over 1k words into chapter 7 of WWIWB, and Dear God, shit's getting real. Finally decided to throw in a victim of the week 😂, so if you're easily disturbed or grossed out (I'm not--I considered a career in forensic science FFS), you might want to steer clear. I try to do a chapter a week, but that didn't happen this week because of a crazy work schedule. (Somebody quit, and somebody else had to be out, so I wound up with a ton of hours.) I'm steadily plugging away on my percilotwin firsts fic, some days a few sentences or a couple of paragraphs, some days more. If anyone has any relationship firsts to throw in, I'll put 'em in the grab bag. I'm also working on my novel, which I am steadily working on, one scene at a time.

[amblingandshambling]

Sunday Six #13

Eggsy shivered and pulled his jacket even more tightly around him. He looked over and saw James rubbing his gloves hands together, his face flushed by the persistent wind. This mission was really beginning to suck. The seedy house they were staying in to best observe their mark was hideously drafty, the roof in the front room leaked, and the amount of mold in some places was beyond disgusting. Eggsy had noticed that James was beginning to develop a bit of a cough, and he was certain that it was due to the mold. The mark was coming down the street, and no one was around. It was a gold opportunity, and Eggsy took it, while James informed Merlin of the need for a cleanup crew. The mark went down, and once the cleanup crew had arrived, Eggsy and James went back to the house to gather their few things and leave. A few minutes in, though, James sat down hard on the bed, lowering his head into his hands, coughing so hard that Eggsy sat down beside him and started rubbing his back, while also telling Merlin that he might want to have medical on standby. "Easy, babe," he said quietly as James finally stopped coughing enough to actually breathe somewhat properly. "God, let's get out of here," James replied hoarsely, while trying not to go into another fit of coughing. He felt absolutely horrible, and he was fairly sure that it wasn't just the mold.

[amblingandshambling]

Sunday Six #12

Eggsy was exhausted. This mission had taken longer than expected, and had went badly to boot. He grunted as his bruised shoulder was jostled by the car hitting a bump.

He let his mind drift, too tired to really force it to focus. The mission was supposed to be a simple one, just find the mark, take him out, and leave.

It hadn’t worked out that way. The mark had somehow known he was coming, and it had turned into a free-for-all of carnage and destruction. By the time the mark was taken care of and a clean-up crew dispatched, there were at least a score of casualties lying around him.

The worst part of it was that he couldn’t think of anything he could have done differently in this case. That bothered him. The mark had been a special type of crazy, and only saw his compatriots as cannon fodder.

It felt like he sleepwalked to medical, who determined that his shoulder was only badly bruised, then to turn in his report to Arthur. He just wanted to go home, shower, and sleep for the next decade at least. Hopefully Alastair and James would something edible ready, because he didn’t feel like cooking, and he wasn’t sure if he could string his thoughts together well enough to order delivery.

They must have read his mind, because he came home to boxes of his favourite takeaway.

[amblingandshambling]

Sunday Six #11

James was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming. So many impossibilities and improbabilities. People that he knew to be dead, had been dead for many years in some cases, laughing and talking and making merry.

It was a party, gaily decorated. Punch was flowing freely. He saw Uncle Peter talking to Isaac Dunbar, who he considered his father, and Lee Unwin. He looked young, well, and healthy, and Isaac and Lee were whole and unmarred, as though death had never touched any of them. Uncle Peter caught his eye and smiled at him, Lee and Isaac looking up and doing the same.

Then things shifted. It was dark and cold now. He braced himself for what he knew was coming. He still wasn’t ready.

A splitting sensation of being torn asunder. A horrible, painful shocking feeling that ended abruptly.

He was was awake. Two sets of arms gently holding him. Two voices, saying reassuring things. He couldn’t find his voice to respond. All that came out were heaving sobs that gave way to violent retching. He could hear the concern in the voices fading in and out between heaves.

He was aware, coming back to himself as he half-lay on Eggsy, his head over his heart, listening to the reassuring beat as Eggsy stroked his hair. Alastair was bathing his fevered brow with a cool cloth, setting the bin aside in case it was needed again. He drew comfort from the two of them, dozing again in spite of how miserable he felt, reassured that they would still be there when he woke up again.

[amblingandshambling]

Sunday Six #9

AN: There is an Appalachian superstition that a bird getting into the house is a harbinger of death. I just thought it would be slightly interesting for a character that was brought back to life in my “Past, Present, and Future” AU to be scared of birds. Fears don’t have to be rational, though.

“Really? You’re scared o’ that? That little thing?” Eggsy looked over at James with his eyebrow raised.

“Look, I know it’s silly, but you don’t have to laugh quite so much about it.” James was regarding the towel that covered a stunned bird with barely-concealed horror.

“Sorry, babe. It’s kinda cute, though. You’re a trained spy, scared to death by a bird.”

“Just..getitoutofmysight.” He looked genuinely anxious, which made Eggsy a little more eager to get the bird outside where it belonged.

“Of course.” Eggsy took the bundle over to the window, opened the window, and set the stunned bird on the windowsill. It shook itself, and flew off. “There. It’s gone.” He closed the window.

“At least you didn’t laugh nearly as long as Alastair did when he found out.”

[amblingandshambling]

Sunday Six #8

Eggsy was finding opening his eyes to be a struggle. Where was he, anyway? A steady beeping echoed in the background. A voice, talking to him. No, make that two voices, one a little higher-pitched than the other, but both undeniably male. His head hurt, and his left ankle. How had he done that? Images of a breaking ladder, the sound of two voices crying out in alarm. Then silence. Well, this wasn't waking up, now was it? Gingerly, he opened his eyes, squinting against the light that was still brighter than he expected. Alastair's and James' looks of relief made it worth it, though.