#WHO THE FUCK IS IN CHARGE OF WIKIHOW

[marragurl]

Ok so like…. Who makes Ratio’s statues? 

Because every possible explanation just opens up a whole new can of worms. 

I’ve been trying to go through as much info about him as I can, including his character stories, but I can’t find anything??? 

So I’m just left stewing in the dark, which usually leads to my humor coming into play. 

So like… are the statues of Ratio’s own making??

Because that would insinuate that he takes the time out of his busy life to constantly make new statues of just himself, including the multiple plaster heads. And if it’s not him physically and it is a manifestation of his Imaginary powers, he’s still making them right??? 

So he still chooses the poses! 

Why??? 

What is his thought process??? 

Physically made or Imaginary Powers made, it’s still his choice on what the statue should look like right???

And if it’s not a conscious decision, then WHAT DO THE JOJO AND CUTESY POSES MEAN

IS JOJO’S BIZARRE ADVENTURES FUCKING CANON IN HSR??

IS IT A SHOW THAT EXISTS??

ARE YOU TELLING ME ARAKI FUCKING EXISTS IN HSR??

AND RATIO IS A FAN?????? 

DON’T TELL ME IT’S JUST A FUN REFERENCE BY THE HSR TEAM, YEA IT’S META TO US BUT IT’S CANON TO THE REST OF THE UNIVERSE THAT RATIO HAS A STATUE OF HIMSELF DOING A JOJO POSE

On the other hand, if it’s not Ratio himself making them… who is it????

Is Ratio commissioning some artists?? Multiple artists? Only one?!?!? 

Is it some weird form of extra credit for his students???

(Student A: Hey wanna hang out tonight? 

Student B: Can’t. Gotta finish up this statue of Dr. Ratio examining his codex by Friday if I wanna get a passing grade in the class

Student A: You can sculpt???

Student B crying with 100 tabs of ‘how to sculpt’ videos and wikiHows pulled up and no sleep: I’m trying my best here Sharon)

Is he like those Renaissance time rich people who basically paid for their favorite artist’s livelihood in order to just make nice art in return??? Is there now a really well-off sculptor somewhere in the universe who is just constantly being paid by THE Dr. Ratio to make stone statues of the man??? Does the artist just put that down in their tax returns?? 

(back at it again with Topaz suffering from Ratiorine’s antics, she’s the one in charge of Ratio’s Sculptor’s taxes)

THAT STILL DOESN’T ANSWER THE STATUE POSE QUESTIONS

DID THE ARTIST ADD IN THE JOJO POSE AND HEART POSE AS A GAG??? AND SURVIVE RATIO SEEING THEM?? 

WORSE- DID RATIO COMMISSION THE POSES??? WHAT WAS THAT CONVERSATION EVEN LIKE??? DID HE HAVE TO POSE?? DOES THE ARTIST JUST HAVE AN ENTIRE SCRAPBOOK OF RATIO DOING DIFFERENT POSES FOR CONSTANT REFERENCE?

FUCK IT, DID AVENTURINE GET IN CONTACT WITH THE ARTIST AND PAY EVEN MORE MONEY FOR THE CUTESY POSES??

(Whole new thought process, the artist is making statues of Ratio for both Ratio AND Aventurine, and all the cute statues are actually commissions by Aventurine for his little Dr. Ratio idol crush shrine. There’s a constant slapstick comedy routine of Aventurine trying to hide them anytime Ratio comes over to his place and barely getting away with it. Does he ever come clean when they start dating? Do they start dating because Ratio finds the statues? Fuck it, if Ratio is the one making the statues and not an artist, does he teach Aventurine how to sculpt?? Does it become like something they do together to spend time?? Ok damn wait that’s kinda cute wait-)

WAIT ADDING ON TO THAT- DOES THAT MEAN FOLLOWING THIS THOUGHT PROCESS THAT AVENTURINE IS THE JOJO FAN???? HE’S A FUCKING JOTARO STAN???

(wait- brisk MC who’s rude to everyone but soft on those he cares about and has the muscles of a Greek god and eventually goes into academia, oh my fucking god Aventurine has a type)

PLEASE

I NEED TO KNOW WHERE ARE THESE STATUES COMING FROM

EVERYONE SEEMS TO KNOW ABOUT THEM, THEY AREN’T A SECRET

IS HIS HOUSE JUST FULL OF STATUES???

DOES HE HAVE A WHOLE-ASS GRECO-ROMAN-STYLE GARDEN FULL OF HIS OWN STATUES???

DOES THE ARTIST SEE A STATUE DISAPPEAR FROM THE GARDEN AND IMMEDIATELY KNOW RATIO USED HIS TECHNIQUE TO SLAM ONE DOWN BREAKING IT AND JUST GO “fucking hell man, I was just about to go on break! Now I need to start a new one!”

IS IT A HOBBY?? HOW THE FUCK DID HE GET INTO SCULPTING AS A HOBBY WITH HIS SCHEDULE???

ARE THEY GIFTS?? 

FROM WHO, STUDENTS??? ADMIRERS? FUCK IT, AVENTURINE???

DOES THE ARTIST BEING COMMISSIONED EVEN HAVE A LIFE OUTSIDE OF THE RATIO STATUES??? DO THEY EVEN HAVE THE ABILITY TO SCULPT ANYTHING OTHER THAN RATIO AT THIS POINT??? HAVE THEY SEEN ANY OTHER BEING OUTSIDE OF THEIR STUDIO AND THE HUNDREDS OF RATIO STATUES???

PLEASE I NEED SOMEONE TO ANSWER ME

[valancietrinit]

said i wasn't gonna do this bc i have some irl stuff to deal w before i can really take on another project, but i'll put this out there to gauge where interest is sitting

expansion on fic premises below the cut

option 1: harrow/kiriona/ianthe; left in charge of varying aspects of the empire post-ntn, following alecto nabbing jod for a tour of the universe (threat); sort of court intrigue; much sexual tension; nobody is truly happy w this arrangement but the girls look stunning + sulky anyway

option 2: modern setting, sort of post-htn au; gideon uses newfound nepotism to kickstart dormant rockstar dreams; a la sir chloe's "michelle", writes a song abt harrow that blows tf up + encounters info that harrow might actually be dead + feels really bad abt it all; later finds out harrow is not dead + just found out abt the song + is heading to her location (ft. cam&pal + corona&ianthe as fellow musicians/bad influences)

option 3: fresh out of the psych ward, harrow is staying in crux's hunting cabin to deal w her issues abt her parents' deaths six months earlier; aiglamene (who crux left in charge of making sure harrow's not dead every week while he fucks off somewhere else) breaks her hip, so gideon is delegated the job of weekend check ins + grocery runs + picking up harrow's meds; shenanigans ensue

option 4: harrow is an og lyctor brought to a war front to help the Cohort break through enemy lines; gideon escaped the ninth at age 16 & (4 - 5 years on) is now reasonably highly ranked; they work together in battle & then harrow recognises gideon's eyes...

option 5: griddlehark phone sex fic; ft. corona & ianthe shenanigans + background cam/pal/pyrrha; heavy on the comedy, light on actual plot; rep for butches w/ bad knees & goth's w/ no fashion sense

option 6: cam/pal/pyrrha; canon divergent post-gtn exploring canaan house redux; still tossing up whether this is a modern-setting fic or not; pyrrha pov; cam&pal scheme like absolute nerds to seduce pyrrha & she does not notice bc she is a professional

option 7: g1deon pov; non-linear narrative following his final hours in melbourne w/ the suitcase nuke -> his 1v1 showdown w/ varun; probs back to back pain & comedy; if it ends up containing smut, it will probably include john, + g1deon/pyrrha (/wake as well, let's be real)

[yourdeepestfathoms]

hi i’m feeling really really really shitty tonight so do you have any headcanons you can give us? really about anything at all

i was gonna go to bed because im exhausted from the lake, but i got this urge to do this. this one’s for you, anon! hope you feel better soon :) 💖💖💖💖

here’s some headcanons of the ladies in waiting at a lake because i was there today and it was fun and i want them to have fun!

• Don’t ask how they got a boat

• Also don’t ask who knows how to drive it

• Bessie learned

• With WikiHow

• “How To Drive A Boat (with pictures)”

• Anyway

• Maggie’s gotta wear a life jacket but she’s not happy about it :/

• The lake’s deep though and there’s waves so she’s gotta stay above the surface

• Maria slips the minute she tries to jump in the water

• Joan laughs really hard until she gets pushed off by Bessie

• But then Bessie is grabbed while Joan falls and they both go down

• Then Maggie kinda hops in like a duckling following its mother

• Joan and Maria keep swimming under the boat

• There’s places where they can breathe so it’s okay

• But Bessie still worries

• The real bread and butter of this trip, however, is when they pull a tube behind the boat

• Maggie fucking goes flying

• Poor thing

• She gets jostled around a lot and then finally loses her grip and is just fucking launched

• And, like, it hurts, hitting the water at the speed she was being pulled at, but it’s really funny that she can’t care

• Maria goes next

• She tests her luck a little too much

• She keeps putting her hands up in the air and won’t hang on

• She gets what’s coming to her when the tube hits a pretty large bump and she wipes out hard

• “MY TIDDIE CAME OUT” -Maria, frantically fixing her bathing suit

• Meanwhile everyone else is fucking crying because this is so much fun

• Bessie!!

• This gal has an iron grip

• They could not flip her at first

• But then they convinced her to ride on her stomach

• Finally

• Victory is theirs when she hits a large wave and literally barrel rolls off of that bitch

• Maria is on the floor because she’s been waiting for this and it’s so much better than she had expected

• Maggie’s in tears

• Joan, who was left in charge to drive the boat, struggles to turn the boat around to pick up Bessie (who is just swimming over at this point)

• Bessie emerges from the water like a swamp monster and she’s laughing just as hard

• Finally Joan goes

• She hangs on well up until the tube goes out into the waves

• She lets go because the waves are big and they bump around a lot, but when she does, she kinda bounces, smacks into the tube, and then flies off

• She can hear Maria’s laughter from her spot

• “YOU GOT CLAPPED” -Maria

• “THE WAVES SNATCHED YOUR WIG SIS” -Maggie

• “UR BALD” -Maria

• Maggie goes again and she hits the water so hard she jacks up her shoulder but she doesn’t feel it until the next day

• Maria also goes again and she shrieks the entire time she’s in the waves

• They calm down eventually and kinda just float around

• Bessie watches Maria, Joan, and Maggie splash each other from the boat and she has the most loving look in her eyes

• Seeing her family so happy and relaxed like this makes her really happy

• She just loves them so much :)

• Oh also Maria jumped into the water and caught a turtle

[todobaku-shoukat]

Boku No Toddler Academia (30/?)

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11712765/chapters/35864727

Nightmare come true?

Bakugou and the toddlers are happily watching a movie when the doors of the dorms are suddenly smashed open. Bakugou jumps up immediately, moving to a fighting stance and ordering the children to hide. When a large figure stomps pass the doorway, Bakugou freezes in fear. A Nomu. Before Bakugou can even blink, the Nomu rushes forward, grabbing one of the toddlers before moving back towards the doorway where a man in a wheelchair enters.

 “Kacchan!” Midoriya calls, his small body grasped in the palms of the huge Nomu.

 “Fuck!” Bakugou curses his inability to fight back, snapping out of his fear. This is not the time to be afraid. He has his children to protect. Growling at the Nomu and the man in the wheelchair, Bakugou shouts “Give him back!”

 The man in the wheelchair laughs, coming closer towards Bakugou who cannot help but to take a step back. He knows this man. It is All For One.

 “How?!” Bakugou begins, confused. This man should not be here. But before he can finish asking, the man lets out a deranged laughter.

 “Give him back? My, my. I’m afraid that’s what I should be saying.” All For One replies before opening up his arms as if to hug someone. A small head of blue rushes forward from behind Bakugou, running straight into those arms happily. It is Shigaraki.

 “Sensei…” Shigaraki drawls out, happiness clear in his voice as he hugs All For One. Following Shigaraki, Toga and Kurogiri also make their way towards All For One, the bounce in their steps announcing their joy at the villain’s arrival.

 Bakugou feels his heart break at this scene, fear and anger coursing through his veins. This cannot be real. His mind ran a mile a minute, wordlessly asking a myriad of questions. Was this planned? Did they take the opportunity where all the teachers are busy invigilating for the exams to infiltrate the dorms? What do they want? Why did his children, the ever-clingy Shigaraki, the bright and cheerful Toga and the quiet Kurogiri, leave his side only to rush into the arms of a villain? How can he get them and Midoriya back? Could he possibly fight the Nomu, especially when it still has little Midoriya clutched in his hands?

 In the end, the only thing Bakugou can say is, “Come back here! Come back to mama!”

 All For One laughs, low and vicious. “You really think you are their mama? Hahahahaha. You’re a failure, inept. You’re nothing but a substitute. And now, I’m going to take them home. I’m going to take all of them home. How wonderful it will be to raise these promising children to be excellent villains.”

 “No! Don’t you dare take them away!” Bakugou growls, hands outstretch with little sparks coming out of his palms. He wanted nothing more than to explode that faceless villain’s face but he could not bear to hurt the children in that man’s lap. Although he knew that Shigaraki, Toga and Kurogiri are/were/will be villains, they are still his dear children.

 “Well then, maybe I shall take you with us. Your quirk will come in handy as we destroy the world.” Following All For One’s words, a crowd of Nomus appear, snatching up the rest of the toddlers. Bakugou rushes forward, furious but helpless, trying to stop them yet not knowing how. His heartbeat pounds loudly in his ears and he feels a heavy weight on his chest. He cannot breathe, and then the world goes black.

 Gasping loudly for air, Bakugou’s eyes shoot open. His vision is blurry, but he could roughly identify the little face before him. As his senses return to him, Bakugou realises that he is still lying in his futon, the toddlers crowding around him with concern on their faces. It is then that Bakugou feels something cold in his palms. Glancing down, Bakugou finds that he had used his quirk in his sleep and Todoroki had used his own to counter it.

 “What?” Bakugou wanted to ask what happened by his voice comes out hoarse and weak and he became overwhelmed with the insistent need to cough. Bakugou waves a hand as he coughs into the other arm, indicating to the toddlers to move away from him lest they catch his cold. After he finishes coughing, Bakugou tries to get up, only for his head to feel like it is being split open. Helpless, Bakugou can only lie in his futon and weakly warn the kids to stay away. Despite having just woken up, Bakugou feels lethargy creeping back up and he closes his eyes, falling into dreamless sleep.

 “What’s wrong with mama?” Uraraka asks.

 “Mama is sick!” Toga concludes.

 “Ah? Then what should we do?” Kirishima asks. The teachers All Might and Midnight have already left early in the morning to prepare for the exam, not even staying for breakfast. As a result, nobody knew that there was something wrong with Bakugou until they were woken up by the loud bang of his quirk.

 The toddlers look at each other, at a loss as to what to do. Then, Asui speaks up, “I have seen my mom take care of my younger siblings when they fall sick… I have some idea…”

 The toddlers immediately perk up and listen to Asui as she lists a couple of things that they should do, doing what they could and searching the internet for some help as well. They need a thermometer to measure Bakugou’s temperature but they do not know if they even have a thermometer, much less where it is kept. As such, Yaoyorozu uses the computer to find out how to make one. While she does this, Todoroki is in charge of keeping Bakugou cool using a wet towel and his own quirk. On the other side of Bakugou is Kirishima who is sending the other well wishes as they previously saw a WikiHow article telling them to do so before Yaoyorozu commandeered the computer.

 Satou, Shouji and Ojiro are in the kitchen, attempting to make a bowl of congee. Thanks to Thirteen’s guidance the day before, they know their way around the kitchen. However, none of them knows how to make congee, but they did not think that it would be that difficult. It is just rice and water after all, right? And so, they pour a cup of rice and two cups of water into a lined cake pan and baked it.

 The other toddlers look for the blankets used in their forts the other day, wrapping Bakugou in these blankets to keep his body warm. When Yaoyorozu successfully makes a thermometer, the toddlers cheer happily, believing that they can nurse their mama back to health. However, when Asui takes Bakugou’s temperature, he is a shocking 39.7°C. The toddlers start to worry again, unsure of what to do. Just then, the oven dings and Satou goes to check on their congee. The rice turns out cooked, but it is just baked rice and not congee. Now that the computer is available again, Satou searches how to make congee, properly this time, but it turns out too complicated for the toddler. Other than the oven, he did not know how to use the other appliances.

 Disappointed, the toddlers crowd around Bakugou. They do now know how to contact the teachers, and their mama made it extremely clear that they cannot leave the dorm. Hence, they are all stuck. Just then, an idea comes to Midoriya. Bakugou said they could not go out of the dorms, but he never said they could not get other people to enter the dorms. And the only person Midoriya knows to call is his mom. Midoriya Inko has always been a protective mom, drilling her phone number and email into her son. And so, Midoriya borrows the computer to write an email to his mother.

 Seeing what Midoriya is doing, Uraraka asks, “Are you asking your mama to come over?”

 Midoriya nods in response. Immediately, Yaoyorozu asks, “Midoriya-san, you knew mama since he was young. Then –”

 “Do you have mama’s baby photos?” Toga interrupts.

 “Yes…” Midoriya replies.

 “Wah! Can you ask your mama to bring them when she comes?” Hagakure asks excitedly. Midoriya readily agrees and the toddlers cheer, already forgetting their worry over their sickly mama.

 When Midoriya Inko receives the email from her son, she is surprised. The account used was her son’s old account that he no longer used, having chosen to use a more professional-looking email compared to the childish one. At first, Midoriya Inko thought that someone had hacked into her son’s account. After all, her son is supposed to be at a special training camp with no phones. The email is also strange, reminiscent of the way her son used to speak before he grew up. However, Midoriya Inko could not see why someone would hack into her son’s email account to email her such things. Hence, she decides to email back to gather confirmation. She asks in her email, who is Midoriya Izuku’s number one hero. Seeing this childish old email account name, Midoriya Inko somehow felt nostalgic. That question was a question she used to ask her son a lot when he was young, before he found out that he was “quirkless”. Back then, Midoriya Inko would feel slight jealousy when her son seemed to love All Might more that he loved her. That was when she would ask that question.

 And just like back then, the reply states, “Mama, you’re my number one hero!”

 Midoriya Inko smiles, tears filling her eyes for some reason. After Midoriya Izuku found out he was “quirkless”, she never dared ask the question ever again. And without this prompt, Midoriya Izuku never really expressed his love for his mom with words. Somehow, it is always nice to have spoken reassurance. Without any more doubt, Midoriya Inko quickly complies to her son’s first email. Honestly, she did not know what to expect. But seeing her son as he was when he was a toddler opening the dorm doors made her feel inexplicable feelings. That small young naïve face reminds her of the time where her son was happy, carefree, and most importantly, safe in her arms. She immediately bends down to hug her precious son.

 Midoriya Inko wants to savour this feeling of being able to protect her son, but the other small faces popping up in front of her brought her back to reality. Taking in the toddlerised aspiring heroes, Midoriya Inko knew that something must have happened again and the school had chosen to keep it from the parents. While Midoriya Inko wants to get angry at that, she remembers that she has already chosen to entrust her son to All Might. If this was what the school believed was the best course of action, then as a supporting parent, Midoriya Inko can only accept it with a sigh.

 “Mama! You have to come help Kacchan!” Little Midoriya shouts as he pulls his mother towards a pile of blankets? Midoriya Inko looks closely, finding Bakugou who was drowning in the mass of blankets. Seeing how flushed Bakugou’s face is and how much he is sweating, Midoriya Inko immediately gets to work. She passes her son his most prized photo album before moving to remove the blankets.

 As Midoriya Inko goes to nurse the sick and unconscious Bakugou, the toddlers crowd around Midoriya Izuku, each wanting to look at the photos. However, there are way too many toddlers for the small photo album. Hence, under Iida’s command, the toddlers split into groups. As the first group looks at the photos the other toddlers help Midoriya Inko. Satou learns how to properly cook congee and Asui tries her hand at feeding a barely conscious Bakugou.

 When Bakugou’s fever finally breaks, it is already evening. Midoriya Inko is in the kitchen preparing dinner while the other toddlers settle around Bakugou, waiting for him to wake. Despite Midoriya Inko’s persistent advice, the toddlers refused to stay away from their sick mama. So when Bakugou wakes the second time that day, he wakes to the same scene of tiny faces peering worriedly at him. Bakugou slowly rubs his eyes, sitting up. His head feels much clearer than in the morning, breath coming much easier. He glances tiredly at the clock, only to widen his eyes full of energy when he sees the time.

 “Fuck! How… I… Did you all have breakfast? Lunch?” Bakugou asks worriedly.

 “We had bread for breakfast while Aunt Inko made us lunch,” Todoroki replies.

 “Aunt Inko?” Bakugou repeats, surprised.

 “Yes, Katsuki kun.” Midoriya Inko says. She had just come over to check on the toddlers.

 Bakugou immediately greeted the other, explaining the situation with the toddlers to her. Midoriya Inko nods in understanding, promising not to let this secret out and also asking if she could come over to help sometime. Bakugou promises to let the teachers know. Wanting to stay with her son longer, Midoriya Inko stays for dinner and ends up watching the way Bakugou interacts with the toddlers. It was rather surprising, for she did not think that Bakugou would do so well with kids.

 And when she leaves, she decides that it is probably best to leave him with a word of warning. For her, she had time to get used to the fact that her child was growing up and becoming independent from her. For Bakugou who has gotten so attached to his role as a parent for these toddlers, he would have to face them instantly turning from cuddly dependent children to mature independent teenagers. From a mama, he would turn back into just a classmate again.

 “Don’t be too attached to them, Katsuki kun. Especially when you do not know if they will remember you as their mama when they turn back…”

[aphmausfanfic]

Leoshant x Ivan

who’s the werewolf and who’s the hunterIvan is the werewolf who had been transformed by magic from his ex (lucinda) and Lioshant is the hunter who stumbles across Ivan sleeping in the woods. When he realizes the wolf wont attack him, he decides to take him back to his home, and im not sure where this goes nextwho’s the mermaid and who’s the fishermanOmg omg ok, so imagine a merman Lioshant, who lives in this undersea world, and a poor fisherman Ivan, who goes out fishing in a storm, and his boat gets ruined. He gets thrown into the water, and is about to drown, before Lioshant grabs him and kisses him (because in legends, when someone is kissed by a mermaid they are able to speak, see and breathe underwater) and the rest of the story is just Lio trying to keep Ivan hidden from the other mermaids, while Ivan is like "do I even want to go back home? I had no money and no family, but here i have a home and a hot mermaid maybe bf"who’s the witch and who’s the familiarIvan is the guy who decided to try withcraft as a joke, so he googled 'dark witchcraft spells' and pulled up a wikihow on how to summon satan or something, not expecting anything to happen. But he accidentally ends up summoning a cat familiar. And so he tries to get rid of the cat, but it keeps appearing back at his house. So instead, he starts looking for ways to reverse the spell, all while the cat is being a little shit, amd he finally thinks he has a spell. So he performs the spell, but instead of the cat being gone, he winds up with a very attractive, naked man on his basement floor.who’s the barista and who’s the coffee addictIvan goes to the coffee shop Lioshant works in one day because he was running late and didnt have time to stop where he normally goes, and as soon as he sees Lio behind the counter, he loves him. So every day, Ivan would come back to the coffee shop, order coffee, and watch Lioshant from his table. Then, after about a month, Lio asks him "wow, you must really like the coffee here." And Ivan just takes a sip from his coffee, and replies, "no, this coffee is fucking awful. Im only here for your number."who’s the professor and who’s the TALioshant is the really sweet, but boring teacher, and hes been teaching the same way for all of his career. Thwn one day, a random guy walks into his office, puts his bag on the desk and says "im gonna be your teachers assisstant." So they talk it out, and it turns out the guy, Ivan, was actually super qualified for the job. So Lioshant hires him, and after his first day, Ivan is like "alright, to fix ypur teaching, we gotta fix you." And so Ivan starts bringing Lioshant with him to parties, and gets him to open up.who’s the knight and who’s the prince(ss)Lioshant is a prince, visiting from another kingdom, and Ivan is a knight, who was put in charge of keeping Lioshant safe throughout his visit. He shows Lioshant around the town and the palace, and takes him out for a drink. It all goes well, until on the last day of his visit, they get mugged, and Lioshant is taken hostage. Ivan then goes on a crazy rescue mission to save the foreign prince.who’s the teacher and who’s the single parentLioshant is a 2nd grade teacher, and when he notices one of his students is failing, he decides to talk to their parents. Lioshant figures out that the child only has one parent, a dad named Ivan, and he offers to meet up for lunch and talk about his childs grades. Lioshant is luke "fuck hes hot" when they first meet, and offers to peraonally tutor Ivans kid. Thats how he ends up spending egery other night at Ivans house, tutoring the child, and lots of mutual pining.who’s the writer and who’s the editor(I didnt have a good idea for this, so it doesnt fit the prompt exactly.)Lioshant and Ivan both work for a magazine, and both bring their lunches to work. One day, Lioshant found his lunch missing from his fridge, so he left a note on the fridge to whoever had taken his lunch, asking them not to do it again. He found another note next to his, telling Lioshant ro kindly fuck off. And thats what started it all. They both started leaving notes for each other on the fridge door, arguing about more than just lunches. Sometimes it would be about the printer being out of ink, or their computer deleting their work. This keeps going on foe months before they finally reveal themselves, and the other peolle in the office are just like "omg xan they fuck already?"

[carolightpenvenys]

SECRET SANTA (PART 1 OF 3)

HAPPY HOLIDAYS POLDARK FANS! hope u enjoy this last minute contribution from yours truly x part 2 and 3 asap- try guess the gifts x

If Dwight considered himself out of touch with women (which he did), he certainly felt a little fucked with when he drew Caroline Penvenen out of the Secret Santa hat at work.

First of all, who was Caroline? He’d been holed up in his office for around six weeks now and had a particularly shitty knack for learning people’s names. Ross had entered him for Secret Santa as a joke and now he was bearing the consequences.

“Fuck fuck fuck.” He read the name again and again and started to panic. How would he even know where to start if he didn’t even know what she looked like? He ran a hand through his hair and thought of the last time he’d bought a gift for a woman.

In summary, he hadn’t.

He rang Ross’s pager around 700 times before he received an answer. Ross strolled into his office leisurely. “Yeah?”

Dwight span round in his chair. “I don’t know if you delivered the wrong name, but who on earth is Caroline Penvenen?” He held up the name for Ross to see, written in pink gel pen.

“Oh my God.” Ross covered his mouth. “Good luck mate.”

“What?” Dwight furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean.” Ross tried to restrain a laugh through gritted teeth. “She’s just a little... extra.” He turned around to leave.

“Ross!” Dwight called out. “Come back! What do you mean?” But he was already gone. Dwight placed his head in his hands and contemplating wikihow-ing how to get through this.

“Caroline.” Verity tutted. “I can’t believe you cheated the Secret Santa.”

From the desk next door, Caroline could feel Verity’s glare. “I didn’t cheat it. I just had to make sure we got each other.” She smirked. “They say you can’t judge a book from its cover but I am pretty sure you can judge a lover by his choice of gift.”

“He doesn’t even know you.” Verity sighed. “I bet he’s very stressed. He’s quite a highly strung guy, don’t be fooled by his demeanour.”

Caroline, however, was insistent. She just couldn’t seem to get Dwight Enys’s attention, no matter how hard she tried. She had been giving him looks for about a month now, but honestly he just looked weary and in the wrong frame of mind.

In a hot way though, obviously.

So when the admin staff got put in charge of doing the Secret Santa, Caroline saw the real gift in Christmas, if you’ll pardon the pun.

Basically, she took a gamble that Dwight wouldn’t turn up to the handout (he didn’t) and Ross would take his name (he did) which she put in a special envelope.

“Wait.” Caroline had just finished a particularly painful section of paperwork. “How do you know so much about him, Verity?”

“Ross is my cousin.” She shrugged, “Dwight and I have crossed paths a few times. Wouldn’t let you near him if he wasn’t a decent guy.” She took another bite of the borderline stale gingerbread her child had made at school.

“No Verity.” Caroline was completely confused. “If you knew him, you would’ve said.” She adjusted the scrunchie in her ponytail, “Right?”

“Honestly Caroline, it’s Christmas, I don’t have time for boy talk right now. Been sewing costumes for the nativity since god knows when and the school just rung me saying I should’ve been there an hour ago for-”

“My Angel Gabriel costume was hopefully a valuable contribution.” Caroline looked her in the eye. “And you should’ve said, I could’ve done pickup.”

“I mean, he wasn’t very keen on wearing a pink costume.” Verity shrugged, referring to her youngest. “But you are a valued member of the family, you know it Caroline.”

“Pink is clearly superior.” Caroline furrowed her brow, pointing to her pink tweed pinafore. “And thanks. But I think I need to settle down.” “I mean, you’re in your twenties.” Verity pointed out. “But I kind of wish you luck with the whole Secret Santa thing.”

“Thanks.” Caroline just realised she had no fucking clue what to buy Dwight. “I might need it.”

So Dwight had searched up and fucking down and he’d not found a single Caroline, nevermind Penvenen.

“I am royally fucked.” He said under his breath, not noticing a sudden presence behind him.

A sudden female presence.

“Well I’m glad your first time was with me.” A voice came from behind. He turned around to see a woman in more pink than he ever thought possible. “Not to make assumptions about your sex life.” She smiled sweetly, almost disguising her cutting remark.

“Ah, you appear to have caught me at a bad time.” Dwight chuckled nervously. “You know what Christmas is like.” He wasn’t sure why he was so tongue tied, maybe it was her overwhelming air of confidence or her excessive beauty. “Don’t suppose you’ve seen a Caroline around, have you?”

She laughed then, twinkly, like music, “Speaking.”

“What?”

“You know, for a Doctor, you’re dense. My name is Caroline. What can I do you for?” Her smile was genuine, optimistic.

Dwight couldn’t believe he had to buy a present for a woman such as this. A generic gift would not fucking do. He was going to have to spend some serious fucking time with her.

“I said, what can I do you for?” He was snapped out of his slight daydream.

“Oh, well, um,” He examined her outfit and deduced she was admin staff. “Um I need some paperwork on um, some patient. Apparently you’re the woman to go to?” She smiled enthusiastically. “I mean, you’re literally outside the copy room,” she indicated, before whispering, “But the rumours are true, I’m pretty. Fucking. Great.” She’d leaned in pretty close to him and Dwight noticed that he’d pretty much stopped breathing.

And with that, she strolled off, heels of her boots clacking on the floor.

“Caroline.” His voice was a little strained and nervous but she still heard it, turning her head to face him again. “When do you finish work?”

“I’m off at one, half day.”

“Well my last appointment is at two, would you like to get coffee after?” Fuck, he hoped it worked.

“Whatever floats your boat, Dr Enys.” She ran her tongue over her top lip, looking at the floor before meeting his eye again. “See you at two thirty.”

He couldn't see it but as she walked back to her office, she did a mini fist pump.

Fucking nailed it.

[castillon02]

The Trick is Slick Code ch. 4: Blogging

Summary: Bond takes up a new hobby. 

Notes: Thank you to @timetospy for the beta, especially her help with the limerick! 

Also on AO3

“Good morning, gorgeous genius,” Bond said into his new microphone. If he was going to be adding more audio to his app, he might as well sound good doing it. “I was thinking of you this morning—I woke up feeling incredibly well-fucked. So well-fucked that I’m feeling...poetic,” he said, and continued his recording in his clearest speaking voice:

“There once was a boffin named Q Who wanted for something to do. I said, ‘I volunteer, Though there’s no bed in here, There’s a desk and I think it will do.’

Bit of revisionism there—you were the one clearing the desk off, as I recall—but that’s what poetic license is for, isn’t it?”

He saved, played the whole file back, and judged it ready for deployment. Q would probably hit ‘uninstall’ in the blink of an eye if Bond sent him audible sexts in public, so he’d send out the latest app update once he had confirmation that Q was back at his flat.

He was starting to feel fairly at home with this mobile technology lark. Now if only Q would start to feel at home with him.

Bond reminded himself again not to rush things. Yes, he could very well be killed on his next mission and die without having achieved domestic as well as sexual intimacy with Q, but that wouldn’t change if he charged in like a bull in an apron and tried to force Q into the handholding and breakfast nook stages.

After all, there might not even be handholding and breakfast nooks. They might both come to their senses and stop seeing each other. Bond might discover that Q had a (very well-hidden) deal-breaking flaw. Q might inform Bond that any one of his several unhealthy traits were enough to call things off. Their ridiculous amounts of chemistry, mutual respect, loyalty, and (Bond hoped) slowly growing affection for each other might not be enough.

But Bond wanted more, and with mandatory retirement age only a year away, he was ready to let himself start having it.

Bond mulled over his strategy. The app was a good start—there was untapped potential there—but it was time for the next step.

Video games? Maybe. Bond put buying a Nintendo-cube or whatever onto his to-do list—who knew, maybe it would be fun. But anyone could buy a video game console.

What would be really impressive would be if he could make a video game, just like he’d made the mobile app. Something like ‘Agent and Quartermaster,’ where the player (Q) could direct the agent through different espionage activities. Bond could even put in an equipment retrieval bonus and deliberately make it impossible to achieve it on a certain level.

...Well, he could if he knew the first thing about making video games. Fuck. The video game would have to be a long-term effort; maybe he could do it for some kind of anniversary.

What else? A gadget of some kind? A model car to replace all the ones he’d crashed? But Q was an engineering genius and building cars, even model ones, wasn’t exactly the same thing as tinkering with Java, a programming language he’d picked up while undercover in a mobile gambling company a few years ago.

The app worked because it was simple; what if all this other stuff came out looking like a primary schooler’s macaroni art?

No, he needed a different kind of technology. Something he could update regularly, to show Q he could be dependable, rather than something he updated whenever the mood took him as he did with the app. A format that Q would be intimately familiar with, to show Q that he wasn’t a complete stranger in Q’s territory. Something that he could nonetheless experiment with, because god knew he’d get bored if he couldn’t.

And most importantly, something doable. Something relatively fast.

Oh God. He knew what he had to do.

‘How to start a blog,’ Bond typed into his browser search bar, and consulted the relevant WikiHow link.

Now: Blogspot, Tumblr, or Wordpress?

***

Bond had three hobbies outside of his work: fashion, food, and cars. (And golf, but not even he wanted to read pages and pages of a golf blog.) He set up sections for all three of them, figuring he’d find out what he most liked to ‘blog’ about as he went along. Then he stared at the blank page of his first ‘blog post.’

Right. Blogging. He had written hundreds of after-action reports, surely he could write a nice little photo-laden essay detailing exactly how he felt about Tom Ford’s newest offering. He put his fingers on the keyboard.

...Fuck, writing was a bit difficult, wasn’t it?

Right. First sentence was the hardest: Tom Ford’s spring/summer 2017 menswear collection lives up to the high standards set in previous years… Bond stopped. He was already bored.

Tom Ford’s spring/summer 2017 menswear collection is fucking stunning.

Better. And he was never allowed to say ‘fucking’ in his official field reports. Bond grinned. Maybe he could get used to this.

Two hours later, he looked up from his computer screen when his stomach started growling; once the usual fidgeting and discomfort with being trapped at a desk had passed, he had hardly even noticed the time passing. Somewhere in between zooming in on pictures of his favorite suits, searching a thesaurus for the precise vocabulary word he wanted, and allowing himself a slight digression on his own personal history with Tom Ford’s designer suits...somehow, while performing this business of blog-writing, he had begun to enjoy himself.

Bond clicked ‘post’ with a sense of satisfaction. Would anyone actually read this? Probably not—Christ, Bond almost hoped not, almost as much as he hoped someone would.

But in any case, it was there. He had made something. And tomorrow he’d make one about food, and after that he’d make one about cars, and then he’d really be cooking with gas.

James Bond, with a license to blog.

Now all he had to do was rack up a non-pathetic amount of posts, including some of the godforsaken fashion labels Q was interested in, and get up the guts to ‘come off anon’ with Q.

...Maybe he could do that in a few months. (Maybe never.) (No, he would do it. Probably.)

In lieu of stressing about what Q might one day make of foodfashionfuckingvehicles.tumblr.com, Bond opened up his recording program to make another audio clip. If he created a backlog, he could program them to disperse once a day while he was on missions.

“Good evening, bespectacled beauty,” he said. “It’s a gorgeous day here in the past, and I’m thinking about suits. I got my first suit when I was ten; it was the first time my parents let me go to a really formal party with them instead of staying with Kincade. I hated being measured, of course, and how tight the tie was around my neck, but I liked being able to steal all the best hors d'oeuvres.”

Bond paused to let the memory of what he considered his first real suit—the suit Vesper had got him, the suit he’d lost and won and flirted in, the suit he’d had sliced off his body before his torture—flow through him. Then he took a breath and continued. “When did you get your first real suit? Or perhaps it hasn’t happened yet,” he teased.

Actually, he’d give a lot to see Q in a tux. Perhaps with some persuasion—or perhaps Q wouldn’t need much persuasion at all. After all, Six’s annual political schmooze fest was coming up in a few weeks, and Bond happened to know that he and Q both had to put in an appearance. If Q wasn’t already going blacktie, surely it wouldn’t be difficult to convince him to.

The question was, would Q go traditional? Modern? Black? White? Bond had seen Q’s nerd chic suits, of course, but blacktie was a different game of couture altogether.

...Maybe he could do a few blog posts about tuxedos next.

***

The thing about recipe blogs, Bond found after an evening spent drinking and doing serious food blog research, was that he hated approximately seventy percent of them.

Who the hell wanted to read three pages of twaddle about someone’s trip to the farmer’s market before getting to the recipe? Why the fuck would someone post pictures of their toddler’s frosting-smeared face as an endorsement of their cake, as if two-year-olds could tell the difference between ASDA’s palm-oil-adulterated cupcakes and ones made with actual churned-from-a-bloody-cow’s-milk butter? Who were the camo-wearing twats who described the minutest details of their wild boar hunting trip and then summed up the actual cooking process of their hard-won pork in a single, damningly vague paragraph? He hoped they’d all got trichinosis.

Bond didn’t consider himself a cooking expert; he left that to the Michelin-starred professionals. However, he did all right for himself. And certainly he could do a clearer write-up than at least half of these faux-gourmet pricks.

How to make scrambled eggs was his first post, mainly because he happened to want to eat some for dinner. He included step-by-step pictures, something he’d found useful in the cooking blogs that weren’t terrible, and made sure to add in helpful advice such as ‘You’re going to want to turn the heat up. Don’t turn the heat up. These eggs are worth waiting for’ and ‘Chop your chives finely—there’s nothing worse than great big chunks of chive sticking out like boulders in the middle of your silky smooth eggs.’

Not a bad first post at all! Simple instructions. Clear pictures, thanks to the high-tech camera in his Q Branch-issued mobile. Certainly none of that irritating waffling about.

Bond’s scrambled eggs were seasoned with a feeling of accomplishment that night.

The problem was that scrambled eggs didn’t transport very well. He could make them for Q when Q visited, but he shuddered to think of Q trying to reheat them in the office microwave. And as long as he was going to have a cooking blog, shouldn’t he indulge in the traditional courtship ritual of gifting Q with some kind of homemade confection? Too right he should. But what could he—

Of course. Q had told him one of his favorite flavors practically the moment they’d met. Something with Earl Grey…

A memory from Bond’s childhood rose from the depths: the scent of dry tea leaves, the weight of his mother’s hand on his shoulder, the laugh in her voice as she said, “Keep whisking, darling!” while he panted with exertion, certain that his arm was going to fall off at the elbow before the butter and the sugar were properly creamed together.

(Could one over-cream butter and sugar? Retroactively, Bond found it a little suspicious that no matter how energetic he’d been when they’d started making cookies, creaming the butter and the sugar always seemed to take just long enough to tire him…)

He checked with the Internet to make sure of his recipe; luckily, his mother hadn’t had a monopoly on it. The only problem was that Bond was nearly out of butter, didn’t have any flour, and certainly didn’t have any of that godforsaken tea. Moreover, it was 21:00, so all of the supermarkets would be closed.

All of them except two, and Bond certainly wasn’t going to venture into the Waltons’ monstrosity on Old Kent Road. It would have to be Sainsbury’s, and he’d have to head out now, because it closed at 22:00.

He could wait for tomorrow morning, but then he would always carry the knowledge that he’d just gone to bed instead of getting up and venturing into the wilds of his local open-to-midnight supercentre like a man. Besides, tomorrow was Monday, and he was certain that Q would appreciate a sweet interruption at the start of his workweek.

Right. Things to do:

1. Purchase the right ingredients, including butter, sugar, and Q’s much-loved (and Bond’s much-loathed) Earl Grey

2. Attempt to bake

3. Somehow, in the attempted baking, manage to create a tea-flavored masterpiece, or at least something in the ‘tasty’ category of foodstuffs.

Not the easiest mission he had ever carried out, but Bond wasn’t one to shrink at signs of difficulty. He took a sip of liquid courage, fetched the keys to the Jag—his latest, somewhat characterless rental—and got underway.

***

“Of course it was closed, Sainsbury’s is only open until five on Sunday!” Moneypenny said.

“As everyone knows,” Bond said dryly.

“Everyone who works late and buys their own Sunday roast,” Moneypenny said. “So where did you end up going? Not…” Her eyes shone with glee; she’d already figured out what his only other option would have been.

“Yes,” Bond said solemnly. “ASDA.” He shuddered. The Walmart corporation may have gotten its grubby paws on the British grocery market, but that didn’t mean Bond had to like that fact any more than he liked their corner-cutting baked goods and deliberately circuitous store design. How had the butter and the sugar been on opposite ends of that enormous warehouse of a store?

“Look at you, out doing your shopping like a real boy,” Moneypenny said, grinning. “Come on, then, let’s see the fruits of your labors.” She gestured at the small black case Bond had set on her desk. It was one that Q had given him. Bond had taken the foam container for the gun and the radio out of it, lined it with a handkerchief, and deemed it a successful biscuit box.

“Only if you’re honest,” Bond said. The aroma of tea wafted through the air as he opened the case and handed her two shortbread biscuits like round gold coins.

Moneypenny winked at him. “Don’t worry—I won’t let you inflict your creations on anyone if they’re terrible.”

This was really why Bond had dropped by to see her as soon as he’d made it into the office, aside from the charm of her company; he hated tea himself, which made it difficult to tell if the biscuits were any good or not. They seemed to be the right texture, and they didn’t look burnt, but…

“Mrrph, horrible,” Moneypenny pronounced, swallowing audibly. Then she stuffed the second biscuit into her mouth and reached for the case. “Give it here, Q definitely won’t like these…” Her eyes twinkled at him.

“Well, I can’t very well inflict them on you, then, can I?” Bond asked, tugging the case out of her reach with a smirk. “And who said anything about Q?”

“Are you dating some other boffin who likes Earl Grey?” she asked.

Bond glared a little, but was inwardly pleased. “If I were dating a boffin who happened to like Earl Grey, then I would say that it hasn’t got very far. Yet,” he said.

“But?” Moneypenny asked, leaning forward.

“But,” Bond said, daring to let a smile cross his face, “I would also say that I think it might be going well.”

“I’ll bet Q thinks so too after he tastes those,” Moneypenny said. “You know, I didn’t think you had a domestic bone in your body.”

“Well, old dogs know where all the old bones are buried, and I managed to dig up a domestic one,” Bond said. “What about you? Any rebounds since…?” Bond knew perfectly well what the tosser’s name had been—he’d gone round and made off with all of his bog rolls, batteries, and charging cords after Moneypenny had dumped him—but he wasn’t about to sully Moneypenny’s breathing space with it.

To his surprise, Moneypenny smiled, and even—yes, that was a tiny flush on her face!

“It’s a little silly,” Moneypenny said, “but it seems I have a secret admirer. And not one who needs information while he’s getting up to things he shouldn’t in the field!” She eyed him.

“I admire you openly,” Bond protested. “Except for your aim. And as for getting up to things—getting up just happens sometimes, doesn’t it?”

“What, like digging up an old bone?” Moneypenny teased.

“It’s a very sturdy old bone,” Bond said with dignity. “Anyway, what have they sent you?”

Moneypenny took a sleek walnut box out of her desk. “It’s a wax sealing kit,” she said, and indeed it was: thick, expensive parchment; beads of red wax collected in a little glass bottle; a brass melting spoon; and, of course, the wax seal stamp with its polished wooden handle and shiny brass die.

“Any note?” Bond asked.

“Of course,” Moneypenny said. She showed him a piece of the same parchment, which was sealed with yellow wax and a badger stamp; although the seal was broken, she gave no hint as to the contents.

“A romantic badger,” Bond mused. “Hmm. And what shape is yours?” He looked at the stamp in the kit, the face of which was flush against the box everything had come in.

“Maybe I’ll send you a little note and you’ll find out,” Moneypenny said with a mysterious smile. “Go on now, go show off your biscuits.”

“After lunch,” Bond said. “And don’t give Q any hints!”

***

Despite the biscuits taunting him from their case, after talking with Moneypenny Bond spent the first half of his day working on the endless memorization of new espionage facts and figures that crossed the double-ohs’ desks, the sometimes useful and sometimes outdated intel that he had to burn into his brain because what if, what if, what if?

One never knew which facts would be life-saving, which drug smuggling methods or underworld tattoos would be important to know. (Like the Macau slave trade—an image of Severine’s kohl-lined eyes flashed up at him for a moment before he shook it away.)

At precisely eleven, he dropped about as much paperwork as was expected of him—which wasn’t much, given his careful tendency not to be too good at it—into his out tray for Loelia Ponsonby, the long-suffering 00 secretary.

Ponsonby was a full-figured woman who never wore the same nail polish color two days in a row and never failed to clear her throat and raise a catty pair of eyebrows if one of them tried to leave without at least filing something. Despite this non-negotiable limit, Bond knew for certain that she kept a list of incredibly short briefs in reserve for them, for when they were having a bad day, and more than once she’d alerted him to an invaluable bit of gossip just in time to keep him from blundering into a social faux-pas. She’d also lasted eight months with them, which was three months longer than anyone else.

The 00 secretary position was normally a bit of a double-edged sword, a fast-track to either promotion or resignation. Ponsonby was on the promotion track. Specifically, she was training to take the cryptography test, and since Bond’s archaic paper forms would have to be digitized by her anyway, he often wrote them in cipher for her.

Before Bond’s papers even had time to settle into the out tray, Ponsonby whisked them out and into a folder. She would dutifully mark the files he had finished off of his ‘to read’ list, and they would vanish from his intel documents to be replaced by something else.

If Bond had let himself, he could have become like the over-studious 008, a Sisyphus drowning under a never-ending slog of briefings.

Instead he put in his time and then skived off, sometimes to physical training sessions, usually to wherever the hell he liked. He’d be free and clear this afternoon—to go to Q’s if Q invited him, or to try his hand at baking something else, or perhaps to drown his sorrows in expensive Scotch if the worst case scenario happened and Q thought the biscuits were so terrible that he assumed Bond was actively attempting to poison him.

Maybe he should ask Ponsonby to try a biscuit, just in case.

Ponsonby traced the edge of Bond’s folder with one midnight blue fingernail. On top of the blue polish, she’d painted a golden dash-dot-dot-dot—the Morse letter B. The letters A through J were on the other nails. “Got something new for me?” she asked him.

“I do, but it will infuriate you,” Bond said honestly. He’d given her a bifid cipher, which were always tricky beasts to crack by hand; but she’d agreed to work on the “old school” methods with him, and he’d know if she used a simulated annealing algorithm to do the work for her.

Ponsonby smirked. “You, infuriating?” she said. “Shocking. And who will you be infuriating for the afternoon?”

Bond popped open his biscuit case and said, “Try one of these.” He handed her one.

Ponsonby took a cautious bite of her biscuit. “Mmm! That’s good. Is that some kind of tea in there?”

“Earl Grey,” Bond said, pleased. “And it looks like infuriation might be off the menu for today.”

***

The biscuits went over beautifully. Q’s mouth dropped open with surprise when Bond presented them behind the safely closed door of his office, and then he shot Bond a very narrow-eyed look, bless his suspicious little soul. But those wary green eyes dropped shut at the very first bite of Earl Grey-flavored shortbread, and Q hummed with pleasure, swallowed, and—best of all—reached for another one.

“You made these?” Q asked.

“I did,” Bond said, faux-casual. “Been doing a bit of cooking, thought you might make a good guinea pig.”

“They’re not bad at all,” Q said, obviously trying to sound just as casual as Bond had been but unable to keep his mouth from pulling up at the corners. He was gripping the handle of Bond’s makeshift biscuit tin, as if to keep Bond from taking it away. Probably didn’t even realize he was doing it.

Bond’s fingers tingled and his chest felt tight, but he was pretty sure it was just a fit of emotion, not a heart attack.

He’d made something and Q had liked it. It was just—it was fucking shortbread, not like a Michelin-starred meal or anything.

But he’d made it. He had fetched the butter and the sugar and combined them with the tea and the flour and the salt. He had rolled the dough into logs and waited for them to get cold in the refrigerator. He had sliced the round biscuits off the logs, taking care to make each one even, because he knew that Q appreciated precision, and because he’d wanted these biscuits to look good for Q. He had even peered anxiously into the oven like some kind of neurotic Bake-Off contestant, trying to find that perfect shade of doneness.

And Q had liked it.

In fact, Q was in the middle of saying something that ended with “come back to mine tonight.”

Bond vaguely registered that there had been some kind of ‘eating’ innuendo in Q’s sentence, but he didn’t have to attempt a witty reply because Q was already pulling him into a kiss.

Notes: You can find the recipes in this chapter (scrambled eggs and shortbread) here. They were originally posted by @beaubete for the MI6 Cafe Recipe Exchange, and then I couldn't resist the idea of Bond making tea-flavored shortbread for Q!

Thank you for reading! Constructive criticism is welcome <3 

[ufocafe]

do all the voltron asks!!

holy moly thanks pal i’ll answer them under the cut bc i anticipate it’ll be Longe since idk how to shut the fuck up

keith: how edgy/emo do u consider yourself to be?

tbh i don’t think i’m that bad like trust me i used to be way worse but overall on the inside i am Soft on the outside i still look hella edgy bc all my clothes are black and it’s just ,, how i look

shiro: are you a good leader and can you handle responsibility?

no and no i am So Bad at being in charge cause i don’t like telling people what to do and i’m a stressed out pushover who avoids anything like group projects at all costs

lance: what’s your type of humor and what’s your favorite meme?

whatever the hell this blog consists of is my humor it’s legit just a shitpost collection. nd my fav meme would probs be the whole cryptid meme trend ? idk if it counts as a meme itself but i lob posts that are like ‘i saw mothman in a overly air conditioned chili’s at 5:47 pm and he bought me a soda’

pidge: are you good w/ technology?

i’d say i’m average for someone my age like i’m a teenager in 2017 so i can operate simple stuff like computers and phones, find how to fix small problems but i’m not a #hacker though i did go to wikihow once to try and learn then gave up after a solid 30 seconds bc it was too hard

hunk: how kind and loyal do you consider yourself?

i’d say i’m pretty kind like i can be rude to a handful of ppl but only cause they’re bad ppl so it evens out. idk bout loyal cause ig it means to stick by your friendos and support them which ofc i do but i can’t say that i like stay by someone’s side thru everything bc sometimes things become Too Much or stuff goes down and u just gotta blast

allura: do you feel underestimated sometimes? and should you totally be the black paladin?

i feel like it’s more overestimated? lots of ppl expect great things from me that i don’t think i can achieve so it’s p stressful. also black paladin allura 4 life

coran: what’s your fav show other than voltron?

i have so many so i’m just gonna name a few; over the garden wall, star vs, gravity falls, stranger things, steven universe, etc.

zarkon: would you consider universe domination for your lost cat/pet

i,, don’t think so ? i mean idk what this question is rly implying like did someone steal my pet and now i gotta take over the world ? or did it die and the only way to like avenge it or whatever is world domination bc probably no to both which sounds heartless since i lob my dog but like everythings gotta die someday and i’m not gonna take over the world to reverse/stop smthn thats inevitable

kaltenecker: do you look good in sunglasses?

not sure i never wear then since i have glasses and rarely go to a beach-like setting but i probably do

slav: are you a perfectionist? do you believe in alternate universes?

i’d say i’m in the middle of perfectionist and absolute walking tornado like i’m so fucking messy and i’ll let stuff pile up until i’m basically living in a dump and i’ll hate it sm but i’m so lazy cause Depression then one day i’ll just do a massive clean up and make everything PERFECT. also yes i like to think theres alternate universes/realities it’s a cool concept to think abt cause it doesn’t exactly affect me it’s not an existential thing like pondering if god exists its more like “i wonder if i’m a duck in another reality”

thace: would you go against the authority if it was the right thing to do?

ofc fuck the authority

haggar: who is your fav character in voltron?

i’d have to say lance i lob my sweet son

matt: what are some things you like abt watching voltron?

i have to admit i’m more into filler episodes rather than fight scenes every few minutes so probably just like all the humor and team bonding it warms my emotionless heart

commander holt: do you like peas?

ya

voltron: are you a team player? do you prefer to work alone?

i rather work alone bc then i get to use all my ideas instead of make a compromise with someone else cause i can never find the voice to speak up for what i want so i just end up watching ppl do stuff i don’t like when there’s stuff i think would be better

blue lion: how trusting and loyal do you think you are?

i already mentioned the loyal thing but for trusting i think i trust too easily? ill just spill beans to ppl i’ve barely known for a long time i wish i was more mysterious but whatevs

red lion: how impulsive and/or decisive are you?

i have 0 impulse control for example i have problems with picking at my skin and i’ll just see a piece kinda tore away and before i know it my fingers are all bloody and i’m like owo what’s this. but when i actually put thought into a decision i am very indecisive because i always wanna make youre i’m making the right choice w/ smthn like choosing classes or buying a certain thing

green lion: how curious are you and what subjects are you interested in?

while being impulsive i’m also quite curious so if i wanna go sneak and see smthn there’s not hesitation. i like english/writing and psychology stuff.

yellow lion: do you consider yourself strong and reliable?

i don’t think i’m either i mean i’ll always be there for ppl if they need me but i don’t really think i’m the best person to lift ppl up even if i wanna

black lion: what are some things you want in season 3?

def more lance and hunk character development, some gay shit (cough klance cough) more team bonding in general, and allura piloting black lion ofc

rover: what’s one fact abt a pet you have/had?

once i had a dog and i can’t recall his breed but he looked just like toto from the wizard of oz and we had him for a few months but he pissed everywhere and on everything so we ended up selling him to some ppl. fast forward to a few months later maybe a year the couple had auditioned him to play toto in the school’s wizard of oz play and he got the part so that was cool

shay: do you love hunk? how do you feel abt the enviroment?

i lob hunk with all my heart he is a sweet bean + i care abt the enviorment a lot i think that with trump as president it’s really gonna go to shit more than it already is bc obv it’s been a dilemma for years now but with the goverment denying climate change and all that i rly fear for our planet

lotor: how concerned are you abt your looks?

i think i’m generally good looking but that’s not to say i’m not concerned with my looks bc i kinda am like ill see myself as cute or smthn but then as soon as acne starts popping up or my hair is bad i kinda just spend the next few days doing whatever i can to fix it so i stay nice hnngh it’s a work in progress

alfor: when faced with conflict, would you rather fight or flee?

i suppose it depends on the type of conflict but i’m most likely to fight until it gets too stressful and then leave

ulaz: would you sacrifice yourself for a cause?

we were asked a similar question in history regarding the dude who discovered gravity or smthn like that idk and it went against the churches beliefs so there was a trial and it was either death or admit he was wrong which is a pretty big thing i guess and we can all say we’d die for what we believed but if it actually came down to it the answer is kinda blurry. i had said i’d say i was wrong then continue to spread my info. underground or just flee but unlucky 4 him he was on house arrest for the rest of his life so choose wisely kiddos

i think i’m gonna sleeb now so bye