Hey friends.
I didn't want to do this, but since I've started getting spam comments on AO3, I'm going to lock down my fic to registered users only.
If you don't have an account, DM me and let me know if you need an invitation. I have a few to give out.
So sorry to hear you're being spammed.
For @mi6-cafe's poetry month.
QUARTERMASTER Quarrelsome, quiet, a queer fish, uncommonly talented and uncommonly kind, He rakes up memories of dark hair, pale skin that had been shut away. Now they emerge in the bickering, in the rapier wit, in the mockery that stops short of spite. But a man is a new thing to want and it has been a slow eternity since I was a virgin to any experience That did not make my ears ring with a horror so loud it forced me to run
I want to fic this! @thestalwartheart Can I fic this???
I haven’t done one of these in a shamefully long time, but I’m rallying today! Here’s an excerpt from the second chapter of my WIP, “The Best Policy,” in which Bond accidentally eats an experimental Q Branch brownie laced with [redacted]. (And if you haven’t yet read the first chapter, you can do so here!)
Q’s life was a disaster.
His work/life balance was nonexistent, he’d had to flip the “Days Without a Workplace Safety Incident” sign back to zero, and the coworker he’d been secretly in love with for the better part of a year was sprawled out on the floor of his living room, stoned out of his mind.
“Ask Moneypenny to bring more of these spicy crisp things,” Bond said from his place on the floor, holding up a bright purple bag with yellow lettering. “We’ve run out.”
“Was that himself in the background?” Eve asked over the phone. “I’m at his flat now. Can you ask him where he keeps his pajamas?”
“Bond, where do you keep your pajamas?”
“I don’t wear pajamas.”
“What do you wear to bed then?
“Nothing,” Bond said. “What would be the point?”
cc: @mi6-cafe
I want to write a fic where Bond comes back after the end of Spectre to find that Q is no longer on ops or comms during active missions. Bond is unexpectedly annoyed the first time he's guided by someone who isn't Q, and when he comes home, he's determined to find out what's going on.
"He's angry at me," he might suggest to Moneypenny, slow and unsure.
"Have you seen Q angry?" she might reply, amused. "His grudges last all of four seconds. You've been away a year, James. He's not angry at you."
She's right. Q isn't angry at him, but he is more reserved. Quieter. More given to spending time in the labs than in the middle of the Q Branch bullpen. Something has definitely happened in Bond's absence, and Bond wants desperately to find out what that was. He's never been good at leaving well enough alone.
He has no luck with Q or Moneypenny, nor anyone else at Headquarters. That's until Mallory calls him into his office one day and slides over a file marked Top Secret. It features Q's ID picture and the details of a confidential mission from six months ago, one that featured a very serious cock up.
As Bond reads through the transcript, he feels a prickling, growing sense of dread that settles in his bones when he sees the details of a drone attack that killed a civilian.
And Q was the one who pushed the button.
Here's a snippet from the evening after Bond finds out. Q is trying to quietly get wasted on his own in a bar somewhere (a new habit of his), but Bond shows up and puts a spanner in his plans.
---
Q looked down at his hands. Underneath them, the remains of a cardboard coaster were torn to shreds.
“Do you remember the day we met?” asked Q.
“Vividly.”
“It was all I could think about for weeks afterwards. All that talk about pulling triggers and not pulling them, knowing when to make the judgement call. You were right." Q swallowed loudly, his Adam's apple a buoy in a rough sea. “It’s all a lot harder in your pyjamas."
There was a long, fraught stretch of silence before Q laughed. It was a horrible, sharp little sound.
“I ended up resenting you, actually.” he added.
Bond huffed. “Most people do.”
“I mean, there you were. Off on some beach somewhere not killing people for a living. The thought was enough to drive anyone to madness.”
“What, me in swim shorts?”
“Yes,” exclaimed Q quite seriously. His hand waved in the direction of Bond’s torso. “All that hulking great muscle, honed to chase and disarm and incapacitate and—and kill, and not doing any of that. Just relaxing. Sunbathing! While the rest of us were…while I was…”
“Q.”
Q’s shoulders slumped. “Apologies, 007. The gin has gone straight to my head.”
Ooooh I love the idea of Bond finding Q drowning his guilt, it's such a familiar picture but he's used to being the one drinking. @thestalwartheart hope you don't mind.
...
"Gin?" Bond huffing again, but a laugh this time, reaching around Q's body to snag the glass. He is shockingly small slumped over as he is.
There's an indignant swat aimed at his hand but he is still "a hulking great muscle honed to kill" and faster than most people. A small sip reveals more complexity than he expected in the Gin but he's grown used to that around Q.
Q had not expected the drink to be returned. But it's set back in front of him quite gently. Bond slips his bulk onto the barstool next to him which is more than he was expecting but he had grown used to that around Bond.
007 was always too much, maybe that's why Q resented his suddenly stopping, unsettled that all the space Bond filled in the branch was suddenly empty. Resented that he had had to pull a trigger but it's not fair to blame 007 for everything...
It's only when he opens his mouth to try and explain and apologize that he realizes he's been muttering, out loud, the whole time.
"Thank you." Bond acknowledged quietly. "When things go badly, and we have to watch people die, it's not good. But you're letting it consume you, thats not fixing anything."
"How do you fix this!?" Had burst out of Q's chest and he realised he was shaking, Bond was right of course but how did he move on.
"Psych, I do go sometimes you know." Bond raised a pale eyebrown at the incredulous look he got. "And by getting up and carrying on. Not like nothing happened, because it did, but carry on like the world hasn't stopped spinning because it Hasn't. "
"My head is spinning." "That's either the Gin or the sincerity. " "bit of both I think." There's a small smile on Q's face which Bond takes a win. "Go home and get some sleep Q, we need you back in Branch."
Q has a moment to knock back the last of his drink before an unfairly strong arm lifts him off his perch. Somehow there's a waiting taxi, already with his home address, his 00 sees him home like Bond does this every day, and Q's world spins a little less by the time he gets there.
I love @thestalwartheart‘s tags of “my fic” “but also everyone’s fic” because I just imagined Mac putting forward this lovely bit of fiction, and then we all crowd around it like ants on a drop of honey like “no, OUR fic” and “thank you Comrade Mac”. XD
= = = = =
His focus turned inward on the cab ride home, as it did during every quiet moment these days. His thoughts were a stubborn shock of hair twisting and knotting and tangling together, always curling backwards and digging their self-destructive way down to choke their own roots. Hindsight haunted him, the past wouldn’t ease its claws out of him, his mistake (murder) screamed at him so loudly that no amount of effort allowed him to ignore it.
@kitten-kin noooooooo, my heart, you Melted it. How did you Know it Was Not going to be sexy times?? That Bond would be the perfect Marshmallow! Soft and sweet but firm. How did you know??
...
Q woke the next morning to hear a voice cursing affectionately in his flat. He's frozen, waiting for the pain from last night's drink when he remembers Bond, so he aborts trying to remember his panic code and meanders into his kitchen to find, yes, Bond.
When the cats woke him he needed coffee to cope with the sight of 2 spinxes staring at him unblinking. Now he just wanted to find the cat food because he was pretty sure he was going to get eaten. Bond expected Q to have an automated feeder somewhere but there was nothing. Maybe the Quatermaster just let them eat whatever stray 00 they could find.
Q felt much better about life at the moment. James Bond, 007, was in his kitchen; rumpled from a night on the sofa, dodging feline hazards, baby talking curses, and generally growing more flustered as time passed. Time for the quartermaster to stop suppressing a laugh and step in to save his agent... from the perils of hungry cats.
"The shredded chicken, in the fridge. And they have a powder supplement next to the kettle." Broad shoulders slump in relief beneath the wrinkled button down. "Thank you Q." Crisp and clear as any mission he watches Bond smoothly take the chicken out and snag the supplement. Watching for the next pause.
"Bowls?" Bond asks, letting his uncertainty show. He is not used to waking up in someone else's house but he's been unable to leave Q to his own devices, they are clearly not working. Life got stranger as Q pulled 2 silicone feeding mats from a drawer and piled chicken and powder on them. Setting them down and dusting off his hands.
"I can get myself to work 007." Q said as gently as he could. "Undoubtedly, but you're not going to work." Bond was clearly looking for coffee which he wouldn't find but Q let him keep searching while he processed. "Why not?" "Gym first, coffee before the gym." Blue eyes flicked over him and the agent clearly read him like a book. "You don't have coffee in your flat, do you?"
Q allowed himself a smirk. "No, I don't. You stayed." " Yes. You're not OK Q. So we're going to hit the gym and then you can go to work." The devil was in his kitchen. He should have a jar of coffee as tribute to devil field agents. "I could just go to psych." "A work out always works. Come on, I'll grab coffee on the way."
“Leaving so soon?”
“Duty calls, 007...”
“I know. It called my name several times last night...”
Look at that smug little shit. 🥰
James is still on rest for another fortnight. Not that's he's resting. Q needs to go in and help 006, Bond doesn't begrudge his BF his job but Alec is gonna get a good few hits next time they spar... if he survives the mission.
we could’ve had it all with retired-double-o malewife james bond
Holy shit I think I need to write this. Bond diving into domestic bliss and being a happy man.
CASINO ROYALE 2002
Eva Green and Daniel Craig on set
I adore that the directors wanted Eva in her underwear and Daniel argued to allow her to stay dressed. He was very aware of the history of Bond as a womanizer and he was determined to change it.
“Q, don’t you love me anymore?”
Q thought about banging his head against the desk, then thought longingly about banging Bond’s head against the desk, and finally settled for a deep sigh.
“007, you are the reason you cannot have nice things, not me.”
“So you do still love me,” the agent said, smug and sure and just begging to be tased.
“You blew a hole in my budget the size of the crater formerly known as safe house EG-8. If I could fire you into the sun right now on the cheap, I would do it.”
“Lovingly?”
“Get out.”
Sometimes people shame their puppies.
Alternate sign verbiage:
00Puppy shaming. Oh dear 🤣🤣🤣🤣.
I want to write a fic where Bond comes back after the end of Spectre to find that Q is no longer on ops or comms during active missions. Bond is unexpectedly annoyed the first time he's guided by someone who isn't Q, and when he comes home, he's determined to find out what's going on.
"He's angry at me," he might suggest to Moneypenny, slow and unsure.
"Have you seen Q angry?" she might reply, amused. "His grudges last all of four seconds. You've been away a year, James. He's not angry at you."
She's right. Q isn't angry at him, but he is more reserved. Quieter. More given to spending time in the labs than in the middle of the Q Branch bullpen. Something has definitely happened in Bond's absence, and Bond wants desperately to find out what that was. He's never been good at leaving well enough alone.
He has no luck with Q or Moneypenny, nor anyone else at Headquarters. That's until Mallory calls him into his office one day and slides over a file marked Top Secret. It features Q's ID picture and the details of a confidential mission from six months ago, one that featured a very serious cock up.
As Bond reads through the transcript, he feels a prickling, growing sense of dread that settles in his bones when he sees the details of a drone attack that killed a civilian.
And Q was the one who pushed the button.
Here's a snippet from the evening after Bond finds out. Q is trying to quietly get wasted on his own in a bar somewhere (a new habit of his), but Bond shows up and puts a spanner in his plans.
---
Q looked down at his hands. Underneath them, the remains of a cardboard coaster were torn to shreds.
“Do you remember the day we met?” asked Q.
“Vividly.”
“It was all I could think about for weeks afterwards. All that talk about pulling triggers and not pulling them, knowing when to make the judgement call. You were right." Q swallowed loudly, his Adam's apple a buoy in a rough sea. “It’s all a lot harder in your pyjamas."
There was a long, fraught stretch of silence before Q laughed. It was a horrible, sharp little sound.
“I ended up resenting you, actually.” he added.
Bond huffed. “Most people do.”
“I mean, there you were. Off on some beach somewhere not killing people for a living. The thought was enough to drive anyone to madness.”
“What, me in swim shorts?”
“Yes,” exclaimed Q quite seriously. His hand waved in the direction of Bond’s torso. “All that hulking great muscle, honed to chase and disarm and incapacitate and—and kill, and not doing any of that. Just relaxing. Sunbathing! While the rest of us were…while I was…”
“Q.”
Q’s shoulders slumped. “Apologies, 007. The gin has gone straight to my head.”
Ooooh I love the idea of Bond finding Q drowning his guilt, it's such a familiar picture but he's used to being the one drinking. @thestalwartheart hope you don't mind.
...
"Gin?" Bond huffing again, but a laugh this time, reaching around Q's body to snag the glass. He is shockingly small slumped over as he is.
There's an indignant swat aimed at his hand but he is still "a hulking great muscle honed to kill" and faster than most people. A small sip reveals more complexity than he expected in the Gin but he's grown used to that around Q.
Q had not expected the drink to be returned. But it's set back in front of him quite gently. Bond slips his bulk onto the barstool next to him which is more than he was expecting but he had grown used to that around Bond.
007 was always too much, maybe that's why Q resented his suddenly stopping, unsettled that all the space Bond filled in the branch was suddenly empty. Resented that he had had to pull a trigger but it's not fair to blame 007 for everything...
It's only when he opens his mouth to try and explain and apologize that he realizes he's been muttering, out loud, the whole time.
"Thank you." Bond acknowledged quietly. "When things go badly, and we have to watch people die, it's not good. But you're letting it consume you, thats not fixing anything."
"How do you fix this!?" Had burst out of Q's chest and he realised he was shaking, Bond was right of course but how did he move on.
"Psych, I do go sometimes you know." Bond raised a pale eyebrown at the incredulous look he got. "And by getting up and carrying on. Not like nothing happened, because it did, but carry on like the world hasn't stopped spinning because it Hasn't. "
"My head is spinning." "That's either the Gin or the sincerity. " "bit of both I think." There's a small smile on Q's face which Bond takes a win. "Go home and get some sleep Q, we need you back in Branch."
Q has a moment to knock back the last of his drink before an unfairly strong arm lifts him off his perch. Somehow there's a waiting taxi, already with his home address, his 00 sees him home like Bond does this every day, and Q's world spins a little less by the time he gets there.
“Let’s visit the Tower of London, he said.”
“It’ll be tons of fun, he said.”
art © the always so brilliant @hippano
Omg guys...
I can relate to this on every level
“postmortem decay set in SERIOUSLY quickly”
See how they rise up! Wishing you all Truth, Justice, Freedom, Reasonably Priced Love, and a Hard Boiled Egg.
[Alt text: 3p Discworld stamp commemorating the Glorious 25th of May. Includes lilac blooms and a figure atop a barricade waving a flag.]
Today’s workout: mowing the high grass in our apple orchard with an old human-powered scythe. I prefer it to a lawnmower or motor-scythe because I can be more selective in what I cut down (just the grass, leaving the wildflowers intact). It’s also more climate-friendly. The grass will go to the animals at our local deer park tomorrow.
Scythe whelding. *blink blink* am sorry @khorazir I'm PANicking. It's like Gay-panic just more inclusive. I do not know of another human who uses a scythe, which makes me Facinated, which is the basically the same as horny in my brain. Interesting human is endlessly fascinating.
Today’s workout: mowing the high grass in our apple orchard with an old human-powered scythe. I prefer it to a lawnmower or motor-scythe because I can be more selective in what I cut down (just the grass, leaving the wildflowers intact). It’s also more climate-friendly. The grass will go to the animals at our local deer park tomorrow.
[affectionate bickering]
More complaining snek. He can walk around just fine by himself, the hay fever that causes him to switch forms for hours is not his fault!
Aziraphale will never admit it but his Demon looks dreadfully cute on the lead and he is also far too worried about someone "rescuing" or killing Crowley to ever allow the snek demon out by himself.
In case y'all haven't heard the news--
I can Hear Crowley whining from here. He is so bored and while there is nothing in particular he wants to do he knows he wants to be with his Angel.
You can lose locations and have to rewrite scenes -- the scene with Drunk Crowley seeing the disembodied Aziraphale was, in the shooting script set at night in St James' Park and had no alcohol in it. Aziraphale was a reflection in the water. A day or two before we were due to shoot it we found that we couldn't shoot in St James' Park at night and I was asked if we could relocate it to a cafe. But we couldn't find a cafe at short notice -- we could, however find a pub. So I rewrote it to occur in the day, with alcohol, in a pub.
(link)
a lonely walk through the park after losing your best friend though
The man Ate that scene. Crowley: drunk, distressed, despairing. No crumbs.
Fandom travel poster for @ithinkthereforiamfandom Inspired by this post by @helloliriels Original image by unnamed artist on Freepik
OMG @kitten-kin you are the best! This is so sweet of you (pun fully intended) 🥳❤️😎
