Hey, do you remember that really homoerotic scene from Skyfall? No? That's okay, here's a Vettonso version of it :)
- explanation & w/o text:
Hi hello, finally my weird psychosexual relationship with Casino Royale has come to fruition. Yeah this is directly based off a scene from Skyfall, but I def envision the vibe as being more like Casino Royale hehe. I can't believe I made that inspo board for this AU almost 4 weeks ago, and then ended up drawing a four panel "comic" about it. Ahhhh proud of myself, a bit, a tad. I think this took 20+ hours across the span of a week? God. Anyways I digress! The AU!!
First of all, their Bond song would be "My Way of Life" by Frank Sinatra. It's so toxic, codependent and obsessive, I'm in love with it. And it really suits Fernando and his motivations and outlook in this AU. Basically, MI6(in the context of James Bond) in this AU is an analog for Ferrari. It picks theses guys up, tells them that they're Ferrari MI6's most special boy, chews them up, and then spits them out when they're finished extracting all their talent and skill and life force.
Much like with Ferrari, Seb in this AU replaces Fernando after Fernando loses favor and becomes undesirable. Now Seb is the new golden boy, and Fernando has turned to a life of crime! Fernando resents Seb for this of course, but also becomes obsessed with him and the idea of him , and how they are connected. It's weird to watch someone else basically go down your exact same path and unknowingly make all the same mistakes(buying into the mysticism of it all too much, being overly cocky, having naive beliefs and goals, etc.) He is caught between wanting to doom Seb even more but also wanting to "save" him, by corrupting him and convincing him to work together.
Basically: He's both a Bond girl and Bond villain.
Fernando is in such a weird place in this AU. I think he's just very dramatic. Seb is just casually living his best 007(005?) life, and Nando is watching him with binoculars, whispering to himself: "DOESN'T HE UNDERSTAND THAT WE ARE NARRATIVE FOILS!?" Yeah he hates Seb, but like the song lyrics say, their lives and dreams are inherently tied up together. He would feel lost without Seb, because Seb basically, unknowingly, destroyed and then took over his life. Maybe he'll feel satisifed if he manipulates Seb into going down the exact same path a bit better.
About the drawings themselves. Still can't believe this scene is a real thing that actually happened, insane to me. But in this AU, after the events of these drawings, Fernando definitely kicked all his henchman out of the room, and fucked Seb in the chair. And then against the wall. And then on the floor. Hey man, Seb is already looking mighty delicious with his unbuttoned attire and being tied up.
I think the general plot would be that Fernando keeps trying to seduce him to the dark side, and Seb keeps making him think it worked, only to escape at the end of the encounter. Leading Fernando to just come up with increasingly more violent and kinky traps. Seb goes along with it(read: enjoys it), leaving Fernando satisifed, only to somehow escape and wink and make kissy faces at Fernando in the process. (Fernando smoking cigarette in bed: "How do I make him stay. Sigh.")
I like to think though that Fernando does win in the end, by realizing, ah wait shit I do need to actually explain my motivations to Seb. And Seb is so worn down by his job, not Fernando, and how he's being treated, that he listens, really actually listens, and realizes Fernando does really have valid reasons. And then they become evil crime husbands yayyyy. Wow you thought this was a espionage AU? Well it is, but just not the outcome you'd expect.
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Hi Allie! Love your fics and your prompt fills are great so far! If you still have room for more prompts, do you want to write something about time travel? Your time travel story in hockey RPF is one of my favorite fanfics ever and I would love to see your Drarry take. No pressure, though!
ahh hi, hello!! i have to tell you that this ask kind of broke my brain a little and gave me a new idea (not a Time Traveler's Wife AU, god, never again, bless u though) that i think is probably, sort of, maybe possibly going to turn into a real fic at some point? maybe?
here's 1.6k words of it for now hahaha. this is: professional time traveler draco who goes on an assignment back to the late 80s in surrey and maybe, sort of, possibly, accidentally kidnaps 7-year-old harry potter back to his time. yeah. enjoy? more to come someday???
Draco waits in an anxious crouch at the hearth, thighs straining, cursing himself for not just giving in to his aching back and getting on all fours. Not that that’s great for his knees—and Draco loves doing this mental exercise in his 30s, he really does, it’s—
“What do you want?” Blaise asks when he activates his Floo. He’s sitting with his legs slung over the arm of a chair, a book in his hands—upside down, because he’d definitely just picked it up and posed like that to answer the Floo. Draco rolls his eyes, face turned downward.
“Can you, erm, come over? Right now?”
“Right now?” Blaise echoes lazily. “I thought you were on assignment.”
“Right, I was, but I’m back now, and—”
“I hardly even noticed.”
Now Draco really rolls his eyes, and does not hide it; he doesn’t have the patience for this routine. “You are aware that when I’m on assignment, no time passes for you because I return directly to the moment in time where I first traveled from, right? So of course you wouldn’t have noticed, you never notice, and you just—look. Never mind. I need you to come over, right now.”
Now Blaise pinches the bridge of his nose with a frown. “Ugh. All that talk gives me a headache, you know that, Draco. Not the best way to get me to agree to your demands.”
“What if you agree to my demands because if you don’t, I will go over there and drag you through the Floo by your ear—”
“I’ve a full stone on you; unless you can time magic your way into some upper body strength—”
“I will get Greg and make him do it. Blaise.” Blaise finally looks up, the frown lingering. “I’m not joking. Please come here.”
For a moment, Blaise frowns deeply enough that it seems as if he is going to agree. He even puts down the book he’s not reading.
And then he gives Draco a slow, honeyed grin. “What’s in it for me?”
It takes the promise of a few good bottles of wine, a vow to join Blaise and his mother for tea with the latest stepfather, and all the money Draco has in his pocket—over 100 Galleons, unfortunately—to coax Blaise through the Floo. By then, Draco’s back is aching and it cracks ominously when he stands up, but the drops his hands from it as soon as Blaise steps through.
“All right,” Blaise says with a heavy sigh. “What’s so urgent?”
“It’s—I just—see, the thing is—” Draco paces, wringing his hands together, wincing at how sweaty they are. “It’s just that—oh, bollocks. I just need to show you.” Draco grabs Blaise by the wrist, ignoring his look of appalled offense, and marches him down the hall to the drawing room, where he casts a Notice-Me-Not and inches open the door. “Look,” he whispers, and Blaise pokes his head through and sucks in a breath.
“Is that—” Blaise says, and Draco shushes him quickly and shoves him back as the child looks up, frowning. He’s been frowning since Draco first saw him, hadn’t even stopped when Draco brought him here and scrounged up every abandoned toy Pansy’s girls or Teddy had ever left behind and presented them to him. He’d frowned when Draco asked him if he wanted something to eat, frowned harder when Draco had practically run to the kitchen to throw a jam sandwich together with shaking hands because he knew that, despite what the child said, he was surely hungry, he had to be, he—
“Sorry,” Draco says hastily as 7-year-old Harry Potter turns his frown in the direction of the cracked open door, ending the Notice-Me-Not. “Just, ah, checking on you. Everything all right?”
Harry just keeps frowning. He’s got a small soft toy in the form of a dragon in his hands, but he drops it on the tea table as Draco’s eyes sweep over it, placing his hands quickly in his lap. The plate from the sandwich is utterly empty, devoid even of crumbs, and the glass of milk is similarly drained, and Harry’s eyes flash to them with a guilt that shouldn’t be there, sending another fissure of heartbreak through Draco.
“Another sandwich?” he asks, knowing the answer he’s going to get and knowing the answer that’s true.
Harry shakes his head, the barest hint of movement; his tiny, too-thin shoulders are hunched. Draco takes a steadying breath, gives a firm, determined nod, and says, “I’ll be right back.”
He pushes back, where Blaise is stood to the side now, gaping. “Come on,” Draco whispers. “I’ll explain while I make him another sandwich.”
“Draco,” Blaise says urgently as he follows Draco on another dash to the kitchen. “Tell me that’s not Harry Potter.”
“It’s not Harry Potter,” Draco says in an utterly flat, emotionless voice. Blaise groans out loud.
“It’s finally happened. You’ve lost your mind completely; that job of yours has smoothed out every remaining wrinkle in your brain. Pansy was right, we should’ve staged an intervention years ago, it’s our fault, really—”
“It is, I’m in complete agreement,” Draco says, nodding vigorously as he slams into the swinging kitchen door. Everything to make the jam sandwich is still laid out on the bench, so he slices bread with shaking hands and then turns the knife on Blaise, a glob of jam trembling at the end of it. “I’ll have that intervention now, if it’s on offer.”
“It’s a bit bloody late for it, isn’t it?” Blaise says, rubbing his hands over his face. “Is he—that’s not adult Potter on potions, is it? Is this not as bad as I think it is?”
“No, and no, it’s definitely much worse than you think it is,” Draco says as he scrapes butter up on his knife and then scrapes it over the bread rather desperately. “It’s—look.” The knife drops with a clatter, and Draco whips out his pocket watch, shoving it under Blaise’s nose.
Blaise squints down at it. “I—Draco, you know I haven’t the foggiest what any of these mad instruments say. What am I looking at?”
“Do you see that ticking hand there? The green one?” Draco asks, jabbing his finger at it. “That’s our timeline. And the rest—all the different colored hands—those are other timelines. Sometimes I go to them to fix—things, aberrations, events falling too far out of control. Sometimes I go and—and destroy them, and the hands disappear. And sometimes I just go back in my timeline, the green timeline, and go on assignment, and I get bored because my assignment is in a horrible place called Little Whinging, Surrey, and I have time to kill—don’t laugh—and I decide to peek in on my old school rival and see if I can find any fun childhood embarrassments to make fun of for the next time he forgets who I am and tries to drunkenly hit on me at the pub—”
“Oh, good god, Draco.”
“—you know, when he calls me Dresden and asks where I went to school because he would’ve remembered—”
“It’s pathetic and absurd that you’re still completely fucking hung up on that, Draco, it was months ago—”
“Vengeance takes time!”
“Kidnapping someone from the past is a little far for vengeance! You are insane!”
“No, it’s not—” Draco takes a shuddering breath and turns back to the sandwich, struggling to unscrew the jam jar while still holding the pocket watch. “This isn’t vengeance. You didn’t see—I didn’t know—”
“Know what? What the fuck were you thinking?”
“It was—they treated him horribly, Blaise, I couldn’t—I wouldn’t—”
Draco hears Blaise suck in a harsh, shocked breath. “So this is—bloody hell. You’re not planning on sending him back?”
“I can’t. Even if I wanted to—look.” He whirls around with the watch again and points at a different hand. “See that—that tiny hand, the little red one? That’s a new timeline. It appeared when I brought him back here.”
Blaise stares at him in utter shock, more genuine emotion on his face that Draco’s ever seen. “So you created a new timeline, all on your own? Have you ever done that before?”
“Of course not. It’s utterly forbidden, it’s disastrous, I may have broken the universe. It’s—it’s the end of my time-traveling career.” Draco’s voice breaks on the last few words, and he turns back to the bench, wrenching the jam jar open, piling jam on top of the butter and then pulling out a new plate to serve it on. A flick of his wand and there’s a new glass, milk pouring into it, splashing out a little where Draco can’t keep a steady hand. His breathing is coming fast and a little wheezy.
“What are you going to do?” Blaise asks in a hushed, pitying voice.
Draco thinks about it for a second, trembling in his kitchen. A thousand different scenarios are flaring out in his mind, all the possibilities—he’s always thinking in multiple timelines in his line of work, always considering every possible outcome and calculation and consequence. It brings up an unpleasant buzzing in his head, rushing in his ears, and he has to take a deep, deep breath.
Then he sets the sandwich plate and the glass of milk to Levitate by the door, puts the pocket watch on the bench, picks up the knife, and brings the hilt of it down onto the face of the watch, smashing it to pieces that scatter all around them, dozens of colorful hands and gears and shattered pieces of glass, time strewn all about.
“Right now, I’m going to give that child a jam sandwich,” Draco says.
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