#and yes I made one for raoul silva

[drpsps]

anyways updated the catboy anton bot pic to this

yes I made this in picsart (I’ve done this before. I was one of those cringy pfp bitches)

[babbling-idiot2]

Raoul Silva x reader

Requested: “Hello!! May I please request a Raoul Silva x female reader? Where the reader works with Bond, but for a time is kidnapped by Silva and then when she escapes and works with Bond again she is conflicted because she has feelings for Silva and then there is a showdown between her and Silva but she doesn’t shoot him when she has the chance?? And then they end up kissing. (Bond is not around) If that is waaaaaay too specific, I completely understand. I’m also a writer and really like this idea, I just don’t have any motivation right now. But If that’s too specific, then just something Silva x reader please?? If not, that’s cool! Thanks and have a blessed week!” -By Anon

Warning:

(Hello! Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy this. It’s actually kind of funny I had a fic for him in the drafts but never got around to posting it. But this was a better idea then mine so, I hope you enjoy!!)

*****

It wasn't suppose to be hard. Nor was it ever hard to do your job. Sure a few bruises and cuts here and there but it was your job and you enjoyed it. You have feared for your life before but at this point in time you weren't that scared anymore. Especially when it involved getting kidnapped. Now you had gotten kidnapped before. But it was also so easy and almost boring. Like they didn't try anymore. Well that was until you got kidnapped by a man named Raoul Silva. You knew him from a brief glimpse of a case file yet you didn't know enough to be interested. Only in the fact he is a ex MI6 agent. That's the only thing that caught you attention. 

In training you are taught many things. One being to never get involved with the target. Ever. If you did you would also be terminated. So, you never ever were involved with anyone. Even outside of your job. But luck would have it, as you've found yourself in quite a pickle. Did you get kidnapped? Yes. Was it on purpose? Well of course not. Did you know who kidnapped you? No! But it was quite the shocker to find out the ex MI6 agent, Raoul Silva had been the one behind it. When you were finally sat down. You sat in an empty room. Filled with high tech computer equipment and the sound of people moving around behind you. Mostly out of boredom and the fact that they themselves are bored with this charade. Then as you were also getting bored, you hear an elevator. You looked forward and could clearly see an elevator opening at the end of the room. Silva steps out and begins walking over to you. "Miss Williams. It is truly a pleasure to finally meet you. I must say that I have read much about you." He’s close enough now that your finally able to see him up close. You shouldn’t be thinking this about your kidnapper but he was very much more attractive then his picture "Good things I hope." "Oh nothing less of good I can assure you. Though I am disappointed they left out so much." You continue to look at him, trying to figure out where he was going with this, already having a good idea "Well that's the point isn't it? To keep as much personal information out of the files?" He tilts his head and nods slightly "Yes. I suppose that's correct but I must admit, I would like to know more about you before I get to the real reason why I brought you here. If you don't mind?"  You raise and eyebrow curiously as you continue to follow him with your eyes. You didn't answer and he seemed to just take that as a yes. He was walking around the area, not once making his way towards a chair. He kept walking, pacing in the same line as he questioned you on your past. "From what I know, you were a top student in school. A plusses and never once a B. You were dedicated to learning everything. You even graduated 2 years earlier than your classmates. Did you enjoy it? High-school, I mean." You shrugged your shoulders "Its hard to remember everything, since it was a little while ago. I do remember enjoying it though. Many good memories." He hums out in either approval or refusal. Which turns out to be refusal. "I do not believe that. You see your file here says, 'School for miss Williams was, in her words: Troubling, I was bullied a lot and had no friends. My studies were the only thing I focused on. I was the laughing stock of my high school career." You didn't say a word, you had no idea that he was really seeing your file right in front of him. "Now Miss Williams, you were bullied, treated horribly and now you are an MI6 agent. Says you've never had any infatuation for anyone in your life. Is that true?" You close your eyes and shake your head "No. I've never been in a relationship nor do I ever want one." He chuckles and looks at you, straight in the eyes "Miss Williams you do know I have your file here and every word you've said is a lie. I do not think that is a good idea. Tell the truth." He says now looking at the file again. This time you roll your eyes and adjust yourself in the seat "I was in one relationship in college. We only dated a week." "Why?" "Because he was a creep. And an asshole." "See now that is what a want to hear. The truth!" You roll your eyes again and become even more annoyed. 

You had no idea how long it had been but what was for sure was that it was long enough. You could hear the sounds of gun fire coming from outside of the building you were in. You thought for a moment that you were hearing things but when you heard the door being slammed open and the sound of an MI6 agent calling your name, relief washed over you. You were soon taken onto one the helicopters and was taken back to HQ. There you were met by a medical team and M. She was glad to see you walking and not in a body bag. She nodded your way before telling the medical team to take care of your. Also ordering you to go with them, knowing how much you hated any kind of medical attention. But you agreed and went along anyway.

Not even a day later you were reunited back with bond and even he was happy to see you again. But sadly even though reuniting gave you a slight feeling of happiness, you were conflicted. For a time you didn’t know what by. Was it work? Did you receive bad news? Did you say something and regret it? You had no idea, until it hit you one day like a truck. You thought back to when you got kidnapped by Raoul Silva. You couldn’t get him out of your mind. It was like he was an infection in your brain and you couldn’t get rid of it. Bond could tell something was wrong with you. Just by looking at you for an extended period of time, he could tell. But he had no idea what it was or better yet, who it was. 

You were ordered to go after him. Simple task, easy enough right? Well not exactly. You were hot on his trail, right behind him and yet he was just that much faster then you. Suddenly out of know where he turned this corner and right before this very large door could close you just made it through when it closed with a loud thud. Silva was at a dead end and had no where to go besides the way you came. When he turned around you already had a gun pointed in his direction. Completely prepared to shoot him if he made one wrong move. He knew that you would so, he would have to choose his next words and moves very carefully. “Miss Williams, I am very amazed at how you caught up so quick. I was not prepared for this encounter today.” “Yes well, you’ve screwed up your chances at getting out. I suggest you make yourself comfortable.” You say gesturing to the ground. He knew you wanted him to sit down on the ground but he couldn’t let that happen. “Miss Williams, Or better yet, Y/n? We both know that you won’t shoot me.” He says stepping closer. Though the fact that he knew your name was quite jarring, it didn’t impair your judgement. It was a sign that he was trying to get close. And you most definitely couldn’t let that happen. You pulled the hammer of your gun back and stepped a bit closer, keeping eye contact as to try to intimidate him. “You really think I’m afraid of what M will do if I shoot someone like you? I could care less. You’re actually lucky your up and walking now.” You never once let your confident and intimidating persona drop, not around him and at a time like this, it would be game over for you. But Silva was smart and he could see through your demeanor. “You are smart Miss Y/n. And you hide your private life so well. So hidden like a hermit in the sand. Yet I see right through the cracks. You have feelings for me.” You clench your jaw and shake your head “In your dreams Silva. I could never like someone like you.” “In my dreams? No, no, no y/n. In your dreams. You’ve thought about me since the day you got kidnapped by my men. Ever since you saw me and now, you cant get me out of your head. You can’t hide your feelings for me y/n.” He says now even more closer then he was before. You couldn’t back up anymore, for the door was closed and there was no escape from this. Your finger tightened and he saw this. He reached his hand out. Hoping that you wouldn't pull the trigger. Your brain told you to pull the trigger and end all of this now. But the more irrational part of you held you back. When he got close enough he wrapped his fingers steadily around the barrel of the pistol. He directed it out of the line of his face and slowly stepped into your personal space. He smiled at you and tilted his head at you. “There we are. I knew you couldn’t shoot me.” “It’s the worse decision I’ve ever made. I’m just as good as dead as your are now.” he starts to shake his head at you “No! No, no, no, no my dear! No one will know about this. Not even Bond. You just have to keep this a secret. You’re good at that, right?” You clench your jaw at hearing that. Keeping a secret from the MI6 was like trying to keep candy from a toddler. But nevertheless you nod your head and look to the side. You weren’t looking away for long until you felt a hand on your chin pulling you back. You looked back at Silva and saw a look in his eyes. You weren't sure what it was but what he did next gave you a good idea. He leaned forward and kissed you. It wasn’t for long but it definitely took the breath out of you. When he pulled away, on instinct you chased him slightly. When you realized what you did you looked away embarrassingly. Hoping he didn’t notice. He did, and smiled from ear to ear. Kissing your forehead and the side of your face. He leaned down where his mouth was near your ear before whispering “You should never feel embarrassed around me dear. I want to see you for you, not what they made of you.” You swallowed your embarrassment and looked up at him before leaning in slowly to kiss him back. It was quick, nervous and very sloppy. You were sure you kissed the side of his mouth. He smiled nonetheless and looked down at his wrist. Sighing out in annoyance he looks back to you. “I’m very sorry my dear, but I must end this meeting. I am suppose to meet my men in 5 minutes or our plan is ruined. Till next time my dear.” As he was walking away you stared confusingly at him. “Wait so this was part of the plan wasn’t it?” He turned back as he was about to pull a hatch open that was in the ground. He smiled at you cheekily. “My dear, I have a plan for everything.” He says as he closes the hatch behind him. You stared wide eyed at the hatch before you. 

“Well then, where did he go Williams?” You sighed out in annoyance “Like I told you before. I went down the hatch as I saw him do, when I got to the bottom he wasn’t there. He was gone. I ran to the end and searched. He was gone.” M stared at you, disappointment lacing her features as she looked at you. You could practically feel it by now. She shook her head and waved you off not bothering to say another word to you. You rolled your eyes and walked out. Fully intending to just go home. 

When you got there you hung your coat up and slipped your shoes off at the door, barley noticing the other pair of shoes right there next to yours. You looked up and sure enough you could see the back of someone's head sitting on your couch. You didn’t have your gun, and hand to hand combat was the only thing you had up your sleeves at the moment. When you came around the couch all thoughts of intruder and fighting left your mind. Silva was sitting there flipping through one of your magazines you had sitting on your table. “You know, you should invest in better security and better reading material.” He says still eyeing the magazine. “And you know I have a full bookcase right there? Also I like to be notified when I have company before they come over. I hate surprises.” He smiles and lays the magazine down, looking up to you with the same smile on his face. “But you like me, so it’s a welcomed one.” You shake your head smiling before walking over to the kitchen. You looked back and he was still seated there, looking out into space of your living room. You had no idea how you were going to deal with him. You had no idea how long this would go on for, but only time could tell now.

*****

(Hello so, I hope you liked this! If you did, any kind of feedback is amazing and highly appreciated! I hope you enjoyed and I hope you have an amazing day/night and stay safe out there in the world!)

[mi6-cafe]

THE FINAL DRABBLES ARE IN!

COME READ THEM AND DECIDE WHOSE IS THE BEST, BETTER THAN ALL THE REST!

But first, what was the prompt again?

Our writers had to use the phrase “be careful what you fish for” in their 300-word drabbles verbatim. 

See the drabbles below the line and VOTE!

(Image description: James Bond off on a fishing expedition)

But how, mods, how do we vote? you ask.

Step 1: Read the drabbles, making notes along the way.

Step 2: Pick three favourites and vote for them in the VOTING FORM while adding feedback for others if you so choose!

Step 3: Profit! (Because it’s all anonymous and even the writers you didn’t vote for end up getting your lovely feedback and it makes them so happy!)

You have until Sunday at 8:59 9.m. PST/11:59 p.m. EST/3:59 a.m. UTC to cast your vote.

Now, come READ&VOTE! (You can also read on wordpress for nicer formatting)

#1

Title: Compliments Author: sunaddicted Warnings: explicit flirting Summary: Q wasn't expecting to hear such a compliment

Seeing Silva bent down over his computer still sent a thrill down Q's spine; despite the fact that the man had become a more or less permanent fixture in Q-Branch, it didn't mean that the adrenaline kick he got out of facing the former rogue agent had gotten any weaker.  

"That's some of my best work."

"Is it."

Q swallowed as he went to stand by the other man, peering down at the lines of code that Silva was studying with the kind of keen eye that made Q squirm, feeling naked even when Silva was looking at his work rather than directly at him.

Though, what was his work if not an extension of his being?

"Are you fishing for compliments, Quartermaster?"

Saying his title in such a caressing and satiny voice should have been made illegal. "Do I need to?" Q tried to ignore the hint of neediness in his voice, even as the flush he could feel blooming up his neck surely betrayed him. He couldn't help it: in his life, he had only met a man who was his equal - better, he had only met a man who could code circles around him, pushing him to do better; to think faster; to outgrow himself. It was exciting.

Raoul slowly turned around, a smirk already painted on his lips. "You have a great arse I would like to bend over this sturdy desk of yours."

"Wh- what?!"

The blonde bent down, lips ghosting against the shell of Q's ear in a caress that was barely there. "Be careful what you fish for, Quartermaster," Silva reached down and closed his hand on the other's hip in a steadying manner, fingers digging into the jutting bone there "You never know what kind of compliment will get thrown your way."

#2

Title: A Fine Kettle Author: Anyawen Warnings: none Summary: LIke shooting fish in a barrel, really.

"This isn't what I had in mind when I said I needed an exit," Bond groused as his feet squelched in his ruined shoes. He'd never get the stink of fish out of this suit. He'd be lucky to scrub it off his skin.

"Well, you know what they say, 007. Be careful what you fish for," Q said, snorting at his own joke as Bond groaned.

"Don't even start, Q," Bond growled. Well. Tried to growl. If it came out as an amused whine Q was polite enough not to call attention to it.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Q said primly. "I found you an exit and left your adversaries floundering. You didn't even pull a mussel."

"I've endured torture more pleasant than—"

"Stop your carping; you’re giving me a haddock."

Bond inhaled slowly. Exhaled.

"What will it take to make you stop?"

"You'll have to shell out more than a few clams."

"Q," Bond begged. Yes. Begged. And yet, he knew that if he were standing in front of a mirror right now his reflection would be grinning. Q's jokes were terrible, and his puns were worse, but hearing him so lost in his amusement was a glorious thing.

"Bring all of your gear back for a start. No losing or breaking anything just for the halibut."

"I'll do my best," Bond promised.

"And dinner."

"I beg your pardon?" Bond asked, shocked. He'd been asking the Quartermaster to dinner for weeks.

"You need time to mullet over. That's fine. Just let minnow."

"Yes, Q. Obviously, yes."

"Excellent. I'm thinking sushi."

Bond couldn't help the laugh that slipped out. He could hear Q's smug grin.

"Just squidding," Q said, then hurried to add, "About the sushi. Not about dinner. And dessert. And afters."

"Afters?"

"Cuttles."

#3

Title: Retrieval Author: stormofsharpthings Warnings: none Summary: Q knew it had never been about her

Q came upon Dr Madeleine Swann serenely fishing from the riverbank. “Got one,” she announced, before handing the rod to him and walking away. Bemused, Q tugged, and the fish leapt from the murky river into his hand, scales flowing like water to engulf his entire arm. Face to face, it gave him a toothy grin.

“Be careful what you fish for,” it snickered as the trees around him exploded with gobbets of blue flame. Q dove into the river to escape and was dragged deeper, drowning, webbed hands holding him tight.

He flailed awake to a bed stained green with murky water, strands of river weed draped about. The windows were wide open, moonlight making the wet marks on the floor glisten.

“James?” he whispered. There was no answer. Not since James had taken the damn car and driven off. But there had been enough clues.

----

He took the river road, heading north. Every bridge was washed-out, every access to his destination blocked. He finally came upon an old-style ferry, its raft drawn along a heavy cable strung across the river.

The old raftman eyed him, then shrugged. Halfway across, the raft slowed as if hung up on something. The ferryman cursed and stamped his boot on the boards. As the raft drifted free again, he gave Q a wry look. “Hope you know what you’re about, lad.”

----

The waterhorse waited for him at the loch edge, burning eyes watching him warily as he approached.

“I never believed you left for her,” he said, tangling his hands in the wet mane. “And all the warnings of all the fair folk in the world couldn't keep me away.” He swung astride and held on. “You can either drown me or come home with me, James. It’s up to you, now.”

#4

Title: Gone Fishing Author: Hexiva Warnings: None Summary: Alec is just trying to have a nice vacation. James has other plans.

Alec is fishing. He’s taken some much-needed vacation time after a knife to the leg on his last mission, and he’s chosen to go to Jamaica, in part because of how James’ face falls when he learns Alec is going without him. James loves Jamaica. Alec, for his part, loves having anything that James can’t have. The sky is blue. The ocean is a beautiful shade of blue-green. Alec lets his line dangle down into the warm water, and leans back in his boat with a sigh of contentment. And then the peace of the summer day is shattered as the water erupts, and a black-clad figure in scuba gear surges up out of the sea, gasping, and clambers into Alec’s boat, almost upsetting it. Alec’s hand flies to his gun, but before he can draw it, the diver pulls off his mask and reveals James’ familiar face. James is bruised and bleeding, and he gasps out, “Near miss. Good thing you were here.” “What the hell are you doing here?!” Alec demands. “I’m on vacation, James!” “Underwater base,” James explains, pointing down into the depths of the ocean. “Spying on our submarines. Blew it up and escaped.” “How do you do it, James?” Alec says, acidly. “How is it that no matter where you go - no matter where I go - there always seems to be some madman with an increasingly improbable scheme gunning for you? Can’t I have one vacation to myself?” It’s not James’ company he minds. It’s that this was supposed to be something he could take away from James. A chance to one-up the always charming James Bond. “Well, Alec,” James said, leaning in with his charming smile. “You know what they say. Be careful what you fish for.” “I hate you,” Alec said, with feeling.

#5

Title: Dare to Wish Author: sorion Warnings: none Summary: A very nice welcome-home.  

"Are you going to put away that blasted machine?" Bond asked, not even looking away from his skilled cooking.  

"Hm?" Q hummed distractedly, not ceasing his typing.  

"Your laptop, darling," Bond complained, making 'darling' sound more like a demand than an endearment.   "Hm." The typing never faltered.  

Bond reduced the heat on one of the other pans that he was juggling on the stove. "I was gone for over a month," he grumbled. "I even dared to hope that you were looking forward to seeing me again."  

Q smiled, and the typing slowed. "One minute, and I'll be all yours, and yet you'll still be giving your attention to our dinner."  

Bond couldn't help but grin. "What's so terribly important anyway?"  

"Oh, just some matter of national security that I'd like off the table before we eat."  

Bond laughed. "Bare feet, unbuttoned shirt, and saving the world. A marvel, you are."  

"One step up from working in my pyjamas," Q quipped.  

Bond sighed. "I'm never going to live that down, am I? What about the incident where you basically plugged Silva into our network?"  

Q pulled a face. "That was... my first week as Q, and I desperately wanted to prove myself, and I may have-"  

"Q," Bond interrupted. "I won't let you live it down, but I'm not holding it against you."  

Q smiled. "Thanks. I do, on very rare occasions, get insecure."  

"There's no need. Everyone knows how brilliant you are. And there's no need to be fishing for compliments."  

"Not tonight. I'm just... fishing for affection."  

His typing instantly stopped when a small box of unmistakable shape was put in front of him.  

Bond caught his eyes and smiled. "Be careful what you fish for."  

Q's breath stuck in his throat, and his eyes lit up. "Never."

#6

Title: A Fishy Companion Author: Nana-chan Warnings: Summary: Bond makes friends with a merman

“Bond,” said the creature, his tone quite serious.

Bond merely grunted as he continued to mend his nets. He would not even look at the creature as he swam around him in the shallow water, his movements graceful. A bloody merman, for god’s sake. He’d found him tangled in his nets after a fishing expedition some way from the island and the merman, having been rescued, refused to leave Bond’s side ever since.

Now he queried: “Why is the fisherman so stingy?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me whether I want to hear it or not,” said Bond brusquely.

The merman replied, “Because his work made him sell-fish.”

Bond closed his eyes briefly. He’d been a double-O agent— a bloody good one— once upon a time. So long ago, it seemed. Retirement on this remote Caribbean island, in a wooden house with its own small pier, had been something he’d dreamed of, until retirement became more like exile and solitude gave way to loneliness.

Until this.

Bond found himself smiling despite himself as the merman persisted, “Why did the fisherman start doing drugs?”

“I don’t know. Why did he?”

“Pier pressure.”

The merman was beautiful, with dark hair and large green eyes that gazed into his rather owlishly. For reasons of his own, he’d named him Q.

Bond looked away. “I think I need a massage,” he said, wincing as he flexed his biceps.

“Have you heard about the Sauna that serves food?” Q piped up. “Their specialty is steamed mussels.”

“Why you—” Bond laughed before he could stop himself. “I ought to have left you in the nets. That might have made you less talkative.”

The merman swam up to him and settled his head boldly on his lap.

“Be careful what you fish for,” said Q, smiling.

#7

Title: Go Fish Author: soufflegirl91 Warnings: adult humour Summary: Q Branch tech must be recovered no matter where the double-ohs lose it.

“Another bloody spoon,” Bond complained, releasing it from the magnet and tossing it on the pile building up at his feet. “How do people even lose spoons in a lake?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the same way you lose proprietary weaponry?”

“Q, for the last time, I didn’t-”

“Can we get any closer to the middle?” Q cut him off, tapping a few times on his tablet screen. “Maybe if we start at the deepest point and move outwards?”  

Bond sighed, dropping the line back into the boat with a clatter. He pulled the engine cord, and with a roar, they were moving.

“THIS SHOULD DO,” Q yelled over the din.

Bond brought them to a stop, but Q didn’t wait for the engine to die down before continuing:

“I’VE ACTIVATED THE HOMING BEACON. THE LAKE’S DEEPER THAN I’D LIKE, BUT I SHOULD GET A SIGNAL ONCE WE’RE-” the engine died down with a final splutter, leaving Q yelling, “DIRECTLY OVER IT - oh.”

“You don’t get out on the water much, do you?” Bond quirked a grin at his flustered Quartermaster, flinging out the line on the starboard side.

“I wouldn’t have to get out on the water at all, if you didn’t go throwing away rocket launchers like they were crisp packets. Bond, what are you doing? I haven’t got a signal, yet.”

“Signal or not, I’ve caught something.”

Bond pulled on the Q-branch reinforced line, trying to reel it in. Whatever the line had caught, it was heavy. Finally, his catch cleared the water line.

He stared.

“Is that a tentacle dil-?”

“Well, you know what they say,” Q cut in.

He giggled. Giggled. Bond had a terrible feeling he knew what was coming next.

“No. Don’t you dare say it.”

“Be careful what you fish for!”

#8

Title: Do I Really Want To Know? Author: IrishWitch58 Warnings: none Summary: Mallory contemplates a recent mission and the behavior of agent and Quartermaster.

Mallory hadn't gotten to his present position without understanding the value of differing approaches to acquiring information. There were circumstances when a simple question was all that was required. There were others when a figurative bludgeon was necessary. That was more often the case when he had someone dead to rights and just wanted an admission. But when something was more delicate, a search for something he suspected but hadn't been able to prove, he needed the skills of a wily fisherman tricking a trout out from under a rock to rise to the bait.

It was unacceptable that his Quartermaster and 007 had gone off coms for eighteen hours. True, the mission was completed, but Bond's bad habits seemed to have rubbed off on Q. Interviewing both had been useless. 'Yes', 'no' and 'equipment failure' were the sum of the responses. Utterly respectful but complete obstruction from both.

They were hiding something and he was worried. Certainly, disloyalty was possible but he had thought better of both of them. There was a chime from his computer and he glanced at the incoming message from accounting. “Can we have some clarification on these charges, please? Uncertain whether these are mission related.”

Mallory scanned the receipts. A moderately expensive hotel suite, room service, and a concierge fee for a trip to a chemist. All charged to one of Bond's aliases. On impulse he called the hotel. Five minutes later he ended the call and stared at the phone. Well, better than treachery certainly but still, Bond and Q? The concierge had found the couple charming and was sure they were a couple. Be careful what you fish for. Now what was he supposed to do? Better that they hadn't admitted anything. He didn't have to act if he didn't officially know.

#9

Title: Shark Bait Author: Venstar / 1amvengeance Warnings: violence? People dedding Summary:  what would you do for those you love?

Bond swam to the ladder access of the dock. A creak of the boards and he froze in place. He swung himself up, his movement was swift and deadly. The guard dropped as suddenly as he had appeared. Bond rolled him into the water. Through the mist, he could just barely make out the tip of a fin. He smiled. It was cold, calculating, and lacking in teeth.

“Almost there.” Bond smiled as a soft breath was let out over comms. “Were you worried?”

“About you or my mortgage and two cats? Because if you live, then maybe M won’t find out about this.”

This time Bond’s smile was wide and bright. “I’m glad we agree then.” 

Bond cut a slit through his wetsuit until he could see his skin underneath. Slightly tan with a smattering of darker freckles. Was that a new mole? Maybe he should have it checked out. Too late. Blood welled up from where the mole had been. He grimaced.

“Bond? What are you doing?”

“Chumming the water.” He heard Q’s sharp intake of breath at the sound of him re-entering the water.

“Bond. This is the worst idea on the list of bad ideas.”

“I know what I’m doing, Q. Moving in, now.”

Silence from the other end as Q listened to him work. He slid through the water, coming up just under the opening of the warehouse. He pulled himself out, his eyes on his targets. He spared one glance for his lover, hoping that Felix could keep the two men distracted enough for him to...yes...to do that. The two men were tossed cut and bleeding into the dark water behind him. Their shouts of surprise turned into screams of pain and terror.

"Be careful what you fish for." Bond murmured, smiling at Felix.

#10

Title: Witnessed Author: oldestcharm Warnings: n/a Summary: James observes Q's methods. It pays off. Q is flexible. He can play an agent like a fiddle. Any time, any place. He knows exactly how to approach his agents — something James is rather impressed by. He'll let them stew for half an hour when necessary; he'll cosy up to them, all charm and innocence; or play up the socially inept IT intern. Sometimes, he gets mean. James particularly likes that part of Q. Whichever it is, though, Q's got them all wrapped around his long capable fingers. James can't look away. He hears from 002 about the 'banger of a DnD game' she apparently raked in the loot for. He also learns about the Deck of Many Things. It's surprisingly accurate for whatever happens next.

009 loses a chess match and gets equipped with a tractor instead of the Jeep he'd requested, although it goes 300 mph and has multiple cannons attached.

005 fails a coin toss and gains a squirt gun full of holy water for her mission at the Vatican. With a quirk of a smile, Q suggests Russian Roulette to Alec. He wins, but just barely.

Q equips his agents with the bare necessities, but unlike his predecessor, they all have to earn the goods. Q's gambling and James is determined to get his own. Q, ever the gentleman, asks what he's willing to play.

"Let's Go Fishin'," James tells him and just for a second Q looks startled. James' lips twitch into a reluctant smile.

"Be careful what you fish for," Q tells him, voice low and enticing. James leans forward, distracted.

"I win," Q says, eyes alight with excitement.

"It's a draw," James corrects, hoping his exhaustion won't show. Q's gaze grows sharp.

On his next mission, James finds an exploding pen in the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

#11

Title: To Fish or Not to Fish Author: scarytheory Warnings: none Summary: Someone is sending weird presents to Q. He needs to figure out who that someone is.

The mug was ugly. Big, brown, and with a ceramic trout holding a plate “I fish you very much!” engraved in bold letters. It wasn’t the only thing that had been anonymously sent to Q for his birthday this week (other items included cheap chocolate and a teddy bear).

“This is getting ridiculous. Who would give me something so hideous?”

“You know what they say – be careful what you fish for!”

“That’s… not what they say.”

James smirked, obviously happy with himself.

Q continued: “Can you at least pretend that you’re jealous? It used to be you, sending me obnoxious gifts!”

“Don’t act like you thought it was romantic now, you hated it.”

He did. But he still had all the awful trinkets that James had sent him from missions before his retirement. They were displayed in his office, he couldn't force himself to throw them away. Maybe he was sentimental, after all.

“Perhaps it’s from a criminal who wants to infiltrate the MI6,” Q wondered.

James laughed. “I can guarantee you that it’s not a villain, the gifts are indeed from the heart.”

Of course he had something to do with it!

“And you can’t just tell me?”

“Nah. Let minnow when you figure it out!.”

“James, this was a terrible pun, even for you.”

“It’s not kraken you up?”

Truly not.

The question was who could send him these kinds of gifts? It seemed that they weren’t from some admirer either, seeing as James didn’t feel threatened. On the contrary, he was amused.

“Oh my God!”

Suddenly he knew. And it was horrifying.

“It’s from my mum.”

James grinned: “I love that woman. She understands that fish puns are fin-tastic!”

With horror, Q realised that against his better judgment, he had ended up marrying his own mother.

#12

Title: One Hell of a Strange Fish Author: Misha / artsytarts Warnings: none, just lols Summary: Fishing at lake Erie can be more exciting than you think. 

Felix sighed happily as he sat on his little bench in his little boat and let his mind wander. Bliss like this was hard to come by. A weekend of fishing, peace and relaxation was awaiting him and there was nothing that could spoil it.

Just as he’d finished the thought, a sudden tug at his fishing rod almost made him topple over the rim of his boat. Felix caught himself and cursed, put his feet down and with all his strength, he started reeling in the gigantic fish. It was putting up one hell of a fight. Gritting his teeth, Felix pulled and pulled, until, with an almighty splash, it broke the surface and screamed, just as the hook zinged past Felix’ ear.

Wait… Screamed?

Felix blinked.

“What do you think you’re doing, you bloody idiot!!” the man, not fish, exclaimed and ripped his diving mask off. He glared daggers at Felix, who still stood poised with his rod in hand.

Then the man frowned. “Felix?” he said incredulously.

“James?!”

“What on earth are you doing up there?”

“Me?! What are you doing down there?!”

James huffed, paddling against the water. “I asked first.”

“Well, I’m on holiday.” Felix held up the evidence. “Fishing trip. What about you?”

“Assignment,” James answered simply.

The mental image of a mushroom cloud above lake Erie filled Felix’ head. “Hell. Should I be worried?”

“Not particularly,” James said. “Anyway, should get going. Nice chatting with you.”

“Hold on, James, what –”

“Next time… Be careful what you fish for!” James called out, shoved his mouthpiece back between his teeth and submerged.

“Did you just…” Felix began, but James was already gone.

With a sigh, Felix let himself fall back into his seat and rubbed his forehead. They had to stop meeting like this.

#13

Title: Gone Fishing Author: Merc / the moon of mercury Warnings: none Summary: sometimes Bond prefers not to talk about his missions.

“Now you’re just preening,” Q says, rolling his eyes for dramatic effect. “Fishing for compliments. Really, Double-O-Seven, must you always make such a show of everything?”

Bond shrugs and finishes straightening his tie, not bothering to argue. He had been admiring his own reflection on the window of the newly painted DB10.

“Quite a dashing image, if I do say so myself. That’s the point, isn’t it? It’s the Geneva Motor Show, no one’s going to take me for a collector if I don’t look the part. What do you think?”

“I’m not the one you need to convince. All I care about is that you get the job done and bring back my car in one piece.”

“Why so grumpy, Q? I’d hoped you’d at least extend the sentiment to my person besides the car. And maybe wish me good luck? I have a feeling this one won’t be easy.”

“Bollocks, you’re going to seduce her, get the intel, and spectacularly blow things up. All of which you invariably accomplish every time. So, off you go and lay your bait. But please, do me a favour and think of the poor car while you’re at it.”

*     *

Q is right. The rich widow falls for his charms, spills her secrets, and buildings explode. Even the Aston survives. A success, all things considered.

Still, it takes him a week after returning to London to face his Quartermaster. The ugly love bites have faded and the overwhelming stench of perfume is nothing but an unpleasant memory. But Q has recordings of the events that went down in her boudoir, and Bond knows for sure he won't let it go.

Unfortunately, his foresight proves right.

“Be careful what you fish for,” he quips the moment Bond steps in, dissolving into laughter.

#14

Title: Look at the Bright Side Author: MrKsan / starrboned Warnings: none Summary: The Quartermaster's job is never easy.

When Bill entered the office, it was dark and quiet. Q sat slumped, painted pale blue under the light of the computer screen.

“Q?” Bill whispered, unsure what he stepped into.

Q looked up, blinking slowly.

“Bill. What are you doing here?”

Bill approached the desk, turning on the lamp. Q flinched from the light, like the sleep-deprived vampire that he was.

“It’s midnight, Q.” Tanner sighed, taking in the wide eyes and the dark shadows under them. “Bond came back hours ago. Why are you still here?"

Q blinked. Bill could almost hear the gears turning in his head.

Christ.

Q pushed a glass bowl from behind the screen. The water inside sloshed wildly from the sharp movement, stirring awake the creature inside.

“It's a... fish?"

“Bond brought it,” Q said. He glared at the fish like it's the source of all of his problems.

“He got you a fish?”

“No,” Q said, eyes narrowing. “He brought back the micro-sized, water-proofed, indestructible hard drive made especially for this mission, containing all the stolen information M asked for."

Bill glanced back at the fish. The fish, who had very sharp teeth inside its slightly gaping mouth.

“Is the hard drive -”

“It's inside the damn piranha!" Q hissed, smacking his head on the table.

Bill couldn't help it.

"Be careful what you fish for, huh?” He said, earning a sharp stare from under the dark mop of curls.

“At least he brought back the equipment this time,” Bill said, smiling apologetically. “Come on, you won’t get anything done by glaring at the fish.”

Q sighed, heavily, but took Bill’s offered hand and stumbled to a stand.

“At least it’s not a komodo dragon this time,“ Q said, as they stepped into the empty parking lot.

Bill couldn't help but laugh.

#15

Title: Cracked Author: solarmorrigan Warnings: n/a Summary: Bond and Q bring down a villain and have a few laughs.

Waves lapped at the sand, offering a gentle, rhythmic backbeat to the sounds of a madman’s island base crashing down in flames.

Bond and Q stood side by side on the beach, each sooty, disheveled, and soaked to the bone. They were sporting various bumps and bruises, some scrapes and burns, but they were pleased with themselves, nonetheless. It had been a grueling few days’ work, filled with more fire, gunplay, and close encounters with sharks and other sharp-toothed marine life than Q was usually comfortable with, but they’d done good work. Yet another villainous plot soundly foiled.

“Well,” Q sighed, “I suppose it’s true what they say.”

“What’s that, Q?” Bond asked idly.

Snickering preemptively, Q answered, “Be careful what you fish for.”

The expected eye-roll and long-suffering sigh never came. Instead, Bond’s expression went curiously blank, before a smile cracked over his face and he began to laugh. It started as a small chuckle before morphing into true, shoulder-shaking amusement, and Q’s own smile slid away in alarm. The joke wasn’t that funny – not that Bond ever laughed at his puns to begin with.

“Oh god, did you sustain head trauma while I wasn’t looking?” Q demanded, his fingers twitching towards Bond’s scalp.

Bond shook his head, still chuckling lightly. “I’m fine, Q. In fact… I’m fintastic.”

In spite of the suspicious anxiety churning in Q’s chest, he couldn’t help it; the pun was so terrible, so ill-timed, so entirely out of place, that Q had to laugh. “Oh, that’s it,” he gasped between giggles, “you’ve finally cracked.”

“I’m fine, Q,” Bond said again, then leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of Q’s smiling mouth before giving him a small shove in the direction of their getaway boat. “Now let’s get out of here.”

*****

GO VOTE!

[cali-holland]

Golden Bullets, Ch. 3: All The Time in the World

Harrison Osterfield X Reader, James Bond!AU

Harrison Osterfield, Agent 007, was once the best MI6 agent around with the astounding reputation as a womanizer. Between illegal gold smuggling and black market trading of weapons, he finds himself deeper in his latest mission than intended, weaving himself into a web of the criminal organization, S.P.E.C.T.R.E.. At the center of it all is the one woman who’s never fallen for his charms- you, Agent 006, the best MI6 agent, the new assistant director of the program, and his new partner.

Word Count: 3000

Gif is not mine

Golden Bullets Masterlist

Masterlist   Harrison Osterfield Masterlist

Let me know if you want to be added to the series tag list

Warnings: violence (using toiletries as weapons bc why not), death, swearing, involuntary drug usage, drinking, vomiting (self-inflicted)

Featured Song: We Have All the Time in the World by Louis Armstrong from On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1969)

 ~ “We have all the time in the world, time enough for life to unfold all the precious things love has in store”

~~~

“That can’t be her real name.”

“Tom, I’m being serious.” Harrison said, but even he couldn’t disguise the amused grin on his face when describing the intoxicatingly beautiful woman that was Pussy Galore to the quartermaster.

“Sounds like a horny teenage boy named her, right?” You joked, sitting beside Harrison on the hotel room couch. The laptop was propped up on the coffee table so that you and Harrison could both video chat with Tom, discussing the previous night.

“Is that your bullet wound?” He asked as he stepped closer to the camera, as if that’d help him see your bandaged arm better. Following last night’s events, it was difficult for you to really move your arm fluidly, so you had opted to wear a tank top on your day “off”. You leaned in, carefully taking off the bandage to show the damaged skin and stitches.

“Hurts like a bitch, but I’ll live.” You told him.

“Nice stitch work, 007. Practicing needlework in your spare time?” The quartermaster teased.

“Shove off.” Harrison rolled his eyes at his friend’s comment while you laughed, fixing the bandage, “Did you finish getting the specs on the flash drive?”

“I’m trying, but there seems to be an issue.” Tom stated, his eyes trailing over another computer screen. You looked down at the golden flash drive currently connected to the laptop. Sciarra was dead and all you had from last night was that one flash drive, you and Harrison both needed it to lead back to Goldfinger.

“You’re the greatest hacker of the century. What could possibly prevent you from getting past this flash drive’s security?” You asked.

“Thank you for the compliment, love, but I can’t hack it from here. It appears the security system on this drive is a replica of one I made, which should mean I can get into it from here, but it seems like I made it too sophisticated.” He paused, with a sigh, “I have a hunch about who could be behind this kind of security system.”

You looked between him and Harrison, both agents seemingly to wordlessly agree on who could be behind the drive. Knowing you’d want an answer, Harrison spoke up, “It’s Raoul Silva.”

“You mean the former agent turned cyberterrorist? I thought you killed him last year.” You said, and he gave you an odd look, “What? I told you I read your file, Osterfield.”

“I’m flattered you remember my cases.” He smirked, before Tom cleared his throat on the screen.

“As I was saying, I need to physically have the drive attached to my computer to get through its security and hopefully track Goldfinger. Silva was connected to numerous weapons dealers, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he helped Goldfinger set up security before he died.”

“So you can’t hack this?”

Tom looked at Harrison with furrowed eyebrows, questioning his friend. “Can’t hack this? Did you not listen to anything I just said? What exactly do you think my expertise is?”

“Sitting behind a computer screen.” He joked.

“Well, I'll hazard I can do more damage on my laptop sitting in my pajamas before my first cup of Earl Grey than you can do in a year in the field.” Tom said, and you laughed, nodding, fully aware of his skills, “Either way, I’ll meet you two in Montenegro to finish on the flash drive.”

“Montenegro?” You and Harrison both questioned.

“Right.” He laughed a little, realizing you two didn’t know about your next step of the mission, “M will call you two later tonight. I don’t know all the details, but I know you two are going to Montenegro, so I assume I’ll be meeting you there.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Montenegro.” Harrison smiled fondly.

“I’ll let you two go. M should be calling soon.” Tom said before ending the call. You let out a small sigh, leaning back on the couch comfortably.

“Have you ever been to Montenegro?”

“Once, but not on a mission.” You replied, not really wanting to discuss your past trip. Unfortunately for you, your partner was observant and caught onto that- and he was also a bit of an asshole, so he pressed the topic.

“You know, I tried reading the Montenegro part of your file, but almost everything was redacted because the clearance of that file is only you and M.” He stated, watching you carefully as you shifted uncomfortably, tightening your jaw.

“What about it?”

“Who did you kill in Montenegro that is so private only you and M can know?” He questioned, and you glared over at him.

Before you could reply, the laptop began to ring, signaling an incoming call from M. You sat up on the couch, answering it.

“Agent 006, 007.” She greeted with the normal stern look on her face.

“M.” You and Harrison both nodded in reply to her.

“Q tells me you two found a flash drive, one suspected to be linked to Goldfinger.” She started, “And that Sciarra is dead.”

“The sniper got to him before we could get him in the DB10.” Harrison explained, and you swallowed a lump in your throat as M’s cold eyes trailed over the bandage on your arm.

“I also heard the sniper shot 006.” She said, “Tomorrow, you two will leave for Montenegro. Agent 009 has been tracking a private banker who funds terrorists, Le Chiffre. Le Chiffre seems to be Goldfinger’s competition at the moment. 009 reported multiple murders of Le Chiffre’s men with golden bullets through their skulls, all of which are sniper shots.”

“Forgive me, M, but if Agent 009 is on the case, then why are we going after Le Chiffre as well?” Harrison asked, voicing the question that was also floating around in your head. Why would MI6 need three agents on a private banker case?

“Because last we heard from 009 himself, he was being followed by Le Chiffre, and last night, local police found him tortured to death. His balls were so beaten, they could barely identify him as a man anymore- one of Le Chiffre’s signature torture methods.” At her words, Harrison squirmed uncomfortably beside you, subconsciously resting a hand over his crotch protectively. “Since Sciarra is a dead end until Q cracks that flash drive, Le Chiffre is our next best lead to Goldfinger.” 

“When do we leave tomorrow?” You spoke up.

“I am working with the Monaco police right now to acquire a private jet for the two of you. I will let you know in the morning. And, remember, this mission is not a personal one.” With that, she hung up the call and you shut off the laptop, getting up from the couch.

“What happened in Montenegro?” Harrison asked you, standing up from his spot on the couch. You didn’t reply as you pulled on a sweatshirt to hide your bandage. Wordlessly, you grabbed the ice bucket and left the hotel room.

You didn’t really need ice, but it wouldn’t hurt to ice your arm or tense muscles- besides, you needed to be away from your partner for a few minutes. Harrison was definitely getting more bearable, but you didn’t exactly want to tell him about Montenegro, not yet. When you came back from getting the bucket of ice, you saw a hotel room service busboy, standing outside of your door. Just before he knocked, you spoke up, “Is that for room 1964?”

“Yes.” The busboy replied almost nervously, holding up a bucket of champagne out to you.

“Thank you.” You smiled as you took the bucket from him, balancing it with your own ice bucket. He nodded, before disappearing down the hall. You laughed to yourself as you looked at the expensive bottle of champagne; leave it to Harrison to want to drink before leaving Monaco. Unlocking the hotel room door, you pushed it open, and Harrison looked up from his phone as he laid down on his bed.

“Champagne?” You offered, setting down the buckets on the coffee table.

“Why not celebrate Monaco?” He laughed. Both of you sat down on the couch, and he effortlessly popped open the champagne bottle. You held up two empty flute glasses for him to pour the champagne into.

“To Monaco.”

“To Monaco.” You clicked your glass against Harrison’s before both of you took sips of the smooth liquid.

“Does this taste odd to you?” Harrison asked, licking his lips from the very small amount of champagne that had actually made it in his mouth before he spit it back in.

“I’m not the person to ask. It’s been a while since I had nice champagne like this.” You laughed, taking another sip of the golden drink.

“It’s probably just too fancy for my tastebuds.” He chuckled, eyeing the glass.

“With all the martinis you drink, your tastebuds must be dead.” You teased, already starting to feel cloudy from the alcohol. You wondered how high the proof was, but that thought was gone as quickly as it came. “You drown yourself in martinis- shaken, not stirred.”

“Martinis are superior. You’d know that if you’d drown yourself in anything.” He quipped back.

“It’d take a while for me to drown in anything- I can hold my breath for six minutes.” You replied confidently, sipping some more of the champagne.

“I can only hold my breath for two. That’s impressive.” His eyes widened in surprise at the little fun fact.

“Most people can only hold them for two, but I was a swimmer growing up and I practiced holding my breath for long periods of time. I’ve got the best lungs on MI6.”

“And the best shot, too, the way I hear it.” Harrison laughed a little, before leaning in closer to you on the couch. Your face was close enough to his that you could feel his breath, and you felt yourself starting to, ironically, drown in his ocean blue eyes. With his voice low and just above a whisper, he asked, “How does someone get the reputation of a maneater?”

“How does someone get the reputation of a womanizer?” You replied, just as quietly. Pulling away from him, you took another long sip of your champagne, the once full glass now empty. The room fell silent before you solemnly spoke up, “I killed him.”

“Who?”

“My weakness.” You rolled up your tank top just enough to show the bullet wound scar on your hip. “I was in Montenegro on vacation with my last boyfriend. I spotted Le Chiffre at a casino, and I called M for permission to strike. When I returned to the hotel room, my boyfriend was there with Le Chiffre- he’d been working for him the whole time. I took a shot at him, but I missed, and he shot me. Then, I shot him again, but that time, I didn’t miss. The only reason Le Chiffre didn’t kill me was Agent 009. Le Chiffre ran, and 009 saved me.”

“So, Montenegro is-”

“Where I became the maneater.” You said. Harrison reached a hand out to touch the scar, but you slapped his hand away, fixing your shirt.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He replied, his voice filled with pity. You could tell he wasn’t just apologizing for overstepping and trying to touch the scar- no, he was apologizing for ever thinking less of you based on your reputation and he pitied you for your story, for all you had to go through to get that name. It was then that you realized he hadn’t really had much to drink of the champagne.

“Why’d you order this if you weren’t going to drink it?” You asked, and Harrison furrowed his eyebrows at you.

“What are you talking about?”

“The champagne. You ordered it when I got ice?”

“I didn’t order this.” The room fell silent, save for the clattering of your champagne flute against the floor from you dropping it. 

“Neither of us ordered this?” You questioned, and he shook his head. Immediately, you got up and stumbled to the bathroom, only making Harrison more confused.

“What are you doing?” Harrison followed after you.

“I’m puking because I was just fucking drugged. No wonder I’m so goddamn talkative right now.” You stated, sitting down in front of the toilet. You looked over at him in the hallway, “Are you going to call Q and have him analyze the champagne or are you going to watch me vomit up whatever drug is in my body? You had less than me, so figure out what happened.”

“How the fuck did someone drug us?” He grumbled, closing the door and rushing back into the room. He pulled up the laptop and called the quartermaster.

“I was just about to call you.” Tom said with a laugh, but his smile dropped as he saw Harrison pouring some champagne into a testing vial.

“Find out what’s in this. We’ve been drugged.” He explained, placing the vile on one of Q’s special testing trays, equipped for analyzing substances through the computer. The computer couldn’t figure out exactly what the substance was, but Q, being the genius he is, could based on the computer’s analysis.

“How did two of Britain’s top agents get drugged with a bottle of champagne?” Q asked, typing away at his computer. Harrison grimaced, hearing the distinct sounds of you in the other room. “Is- Is Agent 006 vomiting?”

“Yes, she’s trying to clear out her system.”

“Shouldn’t you be doing that too?” He looked at his friend skeptically.

“I didn’t even have a full sip of the champagne and it’s been in my system long enough that it’s already effective. She drank an entire glass flute, so however potent this drug is, she had a lot of it.”

“Well, you two got lucky.” Tom breathed out, reviewing the results. “It was a harmless drug, it’s not poisonous or anything. It’s meant to disorient you, weaken your fighting, and make you more conversational. It’s used for interrogations.”

“So that means-“ Before Harrison could finish his thought process, there was a knock at the hotel room door. He quietly shut off the computer, ending the phone call swiftly, and grabbed the golden flash drive, pocketing the valuable object. Grabbing his gun and yours, he softly moved across the room to conceal himself behind the wall.

“Room service.” A voice behind the door called, and Harrison quietly cocked his gun while pocketing yours.

In less than a moment, the door burst, and he kept himself quiet against the wall, hoping the silence in the bathroom meant you knew what was happening out here. Based on the sound of feet, Harrison calculated there were three men in the room now. One stepped past the wall, gun raised as he surveyed the room. Harrison stepped forward, shooting the man dead immediately.

Meanwhile, your ears perked up as you heard multiple footsteps outside the door. Your head was spinning from the drug concoction and the fact that you forced yourself to throw up. It wasn’t until you heard the first gunshot that you knew it was bad.

“Harrison,” You mumbled, pulling yourself up from the floor. Looking around the bathroom, you cursed at the lack of sharp objects. Grabbing your tweezers from the counter, you supposed they’d have to do. You flung open the bathroom door, jabbing the tweezers into the neck of the man nearest you. You kicked the other man down, pressing onto his neck with your foot.

“You’re okay.” Harrison breathed out, coming to stand beside you after he shot the other man, the one with the tweezers in his neck, again.

“Still light headed.” You replied. The man below you moved and Harrison was quick to point his gun at him threateningly. You stepped back, allowing his steadier foot to replace yours. 

“Who sent you?” He questioned.

“G-Goldfinger.” The man wheezed out.

“And was it Goldfinger who made you drug us? How did you find us?”

The man just laughed in response, and you heard the sounds of the police sirens flooding down the street.

“They heard the shots. We gotta go.” You said, and Harrison nodded. You quickly loaded the bags as your partner kept a watchful eye on the enemy. Knowing there was no way you and Harrison could escape if the police got involved, you two left the other man there, alive but weak.

“Next time, no champagne.” Harrison stated once the two of you were seated in the DB10. You sent a quick message to Moneypenny, who would send the word onto M that you and Harrison were en route in the DB10, no private jet necessary tomorrow. Considering how long the drive was, you knew it’d be enough time for you two to meet with Q in Montenegro and catch Le Chiffre.

“You’re going to drive us to Montenegro in this car, and I’m going to forget I ever told you anything about that god awful place.” You groaned, leaning your head against the window. “What did they drug us with?”

“Q says it’s a harmless interrogation drug.” He replied, flicking his eyes over to you, a new softness to them, “Get some rest, you’ve had a rough go.”

You turned to face ahead, trying to get yourself comfortable, and the car was silent for a moment, the only sound coming from the DB10 moving against the road and the quiet Duran Duran song playing over the speakers. You looked over at Harrison, who had his eyes trained on the road, “Thank you.”

“For what?” He asked, genuinely curious about the sudden appreciation.

“For saving me yesterday and patching me up.” You said softly, studying his face for a moment, before shifting to look ahead once more. “I’d do the same for you.”

“Let’s hope you’ll never have to.”

~~~

General Tag List: @viagracex​ @theamazingtomholland​ @Hellomoveonby @heyitsshrez @harrisonosterfieldhazmyheart​ @joyleenl​ @t-o-m-holland​ @lonikje​ @sleepybesson​ @sunkisseddreamer​

Harrison Tag List: @Calhtlland @tomkindholland​ @where-art-thau-romeo​

Series Tag List: @quinjetboi @baby-haz @kickingn-ames @rougese7en @hollandsosterfield @nj01​ @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes @spencerreidxoxo​

[dorminchu]

Blood Simple

Fandom: James Bond Genre: Suspense/Humor (at the end?) Rating: T Warnings: Aftermath of torture ft. Silva's attempted suicide via cyanide capsule, generally desperate circumstances. Characters: Lyutsifer Safin, Tiago Rodriguez | Raoul Silva, Mr. White, Blofeld Summary: "1997: Five months after being traded over to Hong Kong and left for dead, Tiago Rodriguez, formerly 006, is given another chance by SPECTRE's up-and-coming operative."

The realisation came to Rodriguez suddenly and with brutal clarity. After enough time the very act of torture and reprieve became a routine. Today his MSS captors told him he had been handed over neatly for six other agents and Olivia Mansfield—M—would be made chief-of-staff.

Whether or not this was a lie, it didn’t matter anymore. They had told him the very worst thing he could hear. Physical pain was something he had been trained to anticipate and respond to—they could drown him and beat him bloody, take his nails, take his tongue, take anything and he would remain silent. But this, he knew, this was far more intimate. Despite the lack of an innate personal connection to Olivia Mansfield, it managed to dig at some part of him that still operated with a naïve urge to prove himself—to somebody, anybody. Like the proverbial child seeking praise, he had taken his efforts with the Chinese intelligence as far as he could before the inevitable capture; like the disapproving mother-surrogate who would never offer up any love, she had fed him to the wolves without a second thought.

The inevitability of his fate did not take away the lasting damages. It gave, at best, a fleeting sense of certainty. He played the game of a limp, broken man and ensured the guards would be content that they were breaking him down at last. The soldier that pushed him into the cell wasn’t keeping a close enough eye on him. They had checked his body ceaseless times for a weapon but never thought about what was right in front of them.

He waited for the sound of retreating footsteps. He broke the left molar with all the strength he had left, tongued the capsule, bit down.

The contents flooded his mouth along with blood. Rodriguez knew he had won and so began to laugh, a garbled, animal noise. The guard outside barked sharply in Cantonese.

He lost control of his body.

. . .

His cheek was not against the solid, smooth floor of his holding cell—something soft. The smell—where ever he was—was clean. Sound of something garbled and tinny on his right. There was light beyond his eyelids. He thought at first that he was still asleep—trapped in a passing dream, waiting for the inevitable pull back into the old cell where he would awaken. Perhaps a swift reprimand for this little stunt—more physical pain before they denied him the agency to end his own life.

The seconds passed uninterrupted. The very act of breathing was almost more than he could bear. After so many days of malnutrition and oxygen deprivation he was very weak—he could not thrash himself away. He willed his eyes to open. He was in a bed, and his head remained elevated. He could not feel anything in his lower jaw.

So, he was alive. Then the capsule had not done its job after all; M’s last hurrah.

He could not stifle a laugh at the thought. It felt like a dry sob, or a guttural heave before vomiting. He forced himself to breath, deep, ragged, as though lulling himself to sleep. He waited for the inevitable beating but none came. He couldn’t hear anyone else except for the tinny voice—knew distantly what it was. He listened eagerly for a scrap of information or a date, a month. The weather outside was clear and bright. What season? He would learn, in time, that he had been held captive for five months. But for now he could only lay still.

The sound of footsteps pulled him back. The doctor eyed him steadily. He did not ask where he had come from or why he was in such sorry shape. He simply told him that he had been asleep for three days and he was lucky to be alive. He was currently being held in Hong Kong Central Hospital.

He caught sight of himself for the first time in a long time. The look in the dark green eyes was flat and the gaunt skin gave him the appearance of an animated corpse. The structure of his jaw warped and eaten away, the skin melted over the hole like wax. The ridge of his right eye socket became exposed under pale skin.

No, it could not be so simple. Hatred and fear of his interrogators would turn inevitably into a masochistic infatuation. They would merely let him think it was over. He would be nursed back to health—a prolonged moment to breathe that was poisoned with sickening anticipation—and then he would be put back in the cell and it would start all over again.

He had almost no strength left.

He was the last rat. Her favourite. Essential and disposable as any other agent who had gone beyond measure. His rank meant nothing. And now all that was left of him was a mangled inhuman shape and the agonizing minutes while he clung to his new purpose: revenge. It was an endless stretch of ambiguity between unconsciousness and mechanical action, such as breathing.

His mind was very thin. But he was calm.

"Tiago Rodriguez?" This voice was soft, unfamiliar. Rodriguez shivered instinctively, like shaking off a fly. The man stepped into view. "My name is Safin. I was sent to retrieve you."

He had a fresh face that suggested he couldn’t have been older than twenty but his eyes seemed colder. His English was accented but clear. The name was also curious. It was unlikely he was from MI6—then who had sent him, and why?

Rodriguez held his gaze with a cold half-alertness that suggested he was not completely gone but getting there. Safin did not flinch at the sight of him. "You have been taken out of the hands of the MSS. Right now they assume the man Tiago Rodriguez to be dead of cyanide poisoning. But, you're probably wondering why you are alive?"

Rodriguez stared fixedly at a point to the left of his head. The doctor had stepped out of the room. Safin approached but kept leery of him as one would a cornered animal. The metaphor came blunt but it was applicable. Rodriguez's eyes snapped back to Safin, narrowed.

"Your efforts were not in vain. You may have lost your position with MI6, but there are other places that would be more than willing to take on someone of your skillset." He smiled coolly. "Should you decide you want to work again, there is a man in Italy you can contact. Ask for the Pale King."

Rodriguez already was fashioning a plan to get back on his feet. As soon as he was able he would put it into action.

. . .

Now it had been seven months to the day of his resurgence as Raoul Silva. In this time he had patched himself over with a new dental prosthetic. The vengeance within his blood had simmered. Getting back to Italy took the better part of those several months, but in due course the Pale King led him to a man named Blofeld, who was more than happy to take on a man of his persuasion. This inevitably brought him to Rome and he was given a new number—11. Around the table he saw the faces of several men and women that would become his new associates—and one that rang familiar.

After the meeting they all dispersed. Except for No 12.

"You are Lyutsifer Safin?" asked Silva.

Safin paused. "Yes."

"How old when you first joined?"

"Seventeen."

"My God! You have some light in your eyes. Someone will crush it out of you soon enough."

"I have no intention of overextending myself." He spoke plainly, without room for insult.

"Ah, what good is intention? You think you are smarter than the rest. You have done your organisation a great service and you have your little number to prove it. But is that what you want?" Safin did not answer. “This year I will be twenty nine. In seven years with MI6 I did all that was asked of me. When they decided I was disposable, they left me to suffer."

"You sound so sure of it."

They studied each other like two predators competing for the same proverbial bit of game. Then Silva brightened. "I look forward to working with you in the future, Lucy."

Safin bristled. Evidently no one in his life had called him Lucy before. But he kept it in-check, said coolly, "Of course, Silva."

[sunaddicted]

Calming Influence (Q/Silva, crack)

James didn’t think he could be blamed for being suspicious of the way Raoul Silva buzzed around Q-Branch, flitting to computer to desk seemingly without any kind of supervision going on; it made something visceral inside of him twist and turn with the memory of the glass doors of MI6 effortlessly sliding open, as if they had been made for allowing an easy passage rather than restricting it - and all had been done remotely, from an apparently useless and damaged laptop. 

He didn’t want to know how much more damage the blonde could do if he ever got his fingertips on one of their computers keyboards, the little taste of hacking the man had given him while he had been tied up in his island-lair had been more than enough to make him healthily concerned of Silva’s capabilities: Q was good, undeniably so, but James had a feeling that the former Double-Oh was even better; he wasn’t an expert, he knew only basic hacking, but natural talent was only part of it - experience mattered and it was evident that Raoul Silva had had a lot of it.

Unrestrained too.

“How are you so nonchalant about the fact he’s roaming around as if he’s not a threat to national security?” James asked Q under the guise of getting the boffin a fresh cup of tea; nobody ever would find that suspicious, it was a well-known fact that the Quartermaster required a steady supply of tea throughout the day in order to function - he wasn’t sure about whether it was just a legend that had become fact or Q really was that dependent on caffeine.

“Would you believe me if I said he is a calming influence?”

“No”

“Well, he is”

James frowned, his eyes zapping from Q to Silva - still unnervingly too close for comfort to a computer that was hooked into the mainframe, if all the cables dangling from it were anything to go by - and back to the younger man, peacefully sipping from his mug, whole body relaxed against the edge of the desk he was leaning on.

It was kind of infuriating: here he was, worrying and vigilating like one was supposed to when a terrorist and murderer was in the room, and nobody seemed to give a shit.

“How so?”

Q shrugged “He keeps my temper in check” and whenever he hit a bug in his coding or a snag in his reasoning, it was refreshing and soothing being able to talk it out with someone who actually could follow him; R was good and talented but she just wasn’t at the same level, she couldn’t understand him as effortlessly as Silva did.

To be honest, Q was a little enamoured with the man.

He knew it was wrong , one just didn’t go and sprout a crush for a criminal mastermind that innumerable international agencies wanted to put their hands on so that they could permanently do away with him - but Q had always had a thing for smart and dangerous men who could make him sweat with a frisson of genuine fear; it wasn’t a part of his psyche he necessarily wanted to explore, he didn't really care about why he was attracted to the likes of Silva.

“You have a temper”

“Don’t sound so shocked”

“Well, I can’t help being surprised”

“Because I never murdered you for feeding the gun I slaved on to a Komodo dragon?”

Q was never going to let him live that down and James couldn’t really blame him for it: it hadn’t been his most thought out move, if he was honest with himself “Among other things” he conceded with a small nod, the corner of his eye constantly trained on Silva; every movement of the man made him tense, body getting ready for a fight seemingly out of its own volition - his reflexes acquired over years and years on the field came to life without James needing any kind of conscious effort on his part.

“Meditation works wonders, you should try it”

“If meditation works so well, why do you need that bastard around then?”

“Maybe I don’t mind the eye candy”

James didn’t splutter - he just did not . The noise that left his throat was… something that could go undescribed for the sake of his dignity “ Eye candy ?”

“You’re sounding a little hysteric”

“That’s Raoul Silva”

“And?”

“He blew up the old headquarters, almost killed me and killed M”

“Oh, shuck the holier than thou attitude: it’s not like you’ve never fucked someone who was on the other side of the chessboard, to put it metaphorically”

“You’ve fucked him?!” James hissed, crowding closer to Q in the hopes that feeling a little threatened would make the younger man change his version and say that he had just been joking, purposefully riling him up in an attempt at getting back at him for all the wasted and destroyed equipment.

He would even admit he deserved it, if that ended up being the truth.

“Bond-”

“Q”

Why did he never manage to keep his fucking mouth shut? The younger man stepped even closer, not wanting anyone to accidentally hear the conversation they were having; Q could already feel the blood rising to grace the tip of his ears and the apples of his cheeks, the telltale betrayal operated by his own body “ Yes - and you’ll keep your mouth shut about it if you ever want to go back out in the field with a functioning gun”

[fyrapartnersearch]

Some Niche and Not-So-Niche Fandom Roleplays

Hello, everyone. I’m Rye or Ry, whichever suits your fancy. I’m 21+, and I’m posting this ad in the hopes of finding some roleplaying partners.

Roleplay platform: email. 

Contact me via ryuulacorda (at) google mail (dot) com.

► WHAT YOU CAN EXPECT FROM ME:

Writing style: third person, present or past tense.

Response length: varied, depending on what the scene calls for or what the muse dictates. Tend to match up to partner’s. (Okay with both multi-paragraphed and rapid-fire replies.)

OOC discussion for plotting and/or casual chatting.

Smut/NSFW elements: yes (but plot > smut). Explicit and fade-to-black.

► WHAT I EXPECT FROM MY WRITING PARTNER:

Be 21+ (non-negotiable).

Grammar and spelling: decent, at the least. Some errors here and there are fine and entirely normal. I just need to be able to understand you well enough to formulate a proper response.

Please be open to discussion. Don’t hesitate to tell me if something is not working, or if you want to shift direction. 

► GENERAL ROLEPLAYING DETAILS: (whatever you're looking for, just shoot me a question)

Genres: I tend to default to romance and angst or hurt/comfort. But I’m flexible and have written for plenty of other genres, including but not limited to, fluff, humor, slice-of-life, mystery, suspense, drama, horror, etc.

Setting categories: also an aspect I’m flexible about. Fantasy, medieval, modern, historical, trying to survive the end of the world, etc.

Alternative universes (AUs): absolutely. From what-if scenarios that lead to canon-divergence, or an entirely different setting derived from the categories above, I’m all game. (Mythical creatures AU, magical AU, Harry Potter AU, time-travelling AU, etc.)

Dark themes: yes. Not a strict necessity, but if you want to write about some sort of dark themes, such as psychological manipulation, psychological trauma, unhealthy obsession, substance abuse, etc., I would love to explore these themes with you.

► SOME NSFW/SMUT DETAILS: (non-extensive)

Range: from vanilla to BDSM. Comfortable with A/B/O, dom/sub dynamics, and a variety of other kinks. So, if you want to have something included into the roleplay, just bring it up and we can negotiate.

Limits: toilet play, extreme gore, vore, bestiality, incest.

► FANDOMS: (in no particular order)

James Bond (Daniel Craig era): 

00Q (James Bond/Q)

00Silva (Raoul Silva/James Bond) 

Q/Bond/Silva

Ernst Starvo Blofeld/James Bond 

Blofeld/Bond/Q

Harry Potter:

Harry Potter/Severus Snape

Harry Potter/Hermione Granger

Stranger Things:

Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington

Jonathan Byers/Steve Harrington

Peaky Blinders:

Alfie Solomon/Thomas Shelby

MCU (Marvel Cinematic Universe):

Stephen Strange/Tony Stark

Thor/Tony Stark

Sha Po Lang:

Chang Geng/Gu Yun

Mo Dao Zu Shi/Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation (not CQL/The Untamed):

Lan WangJi/Wei WuXian

Wen Ning/Wei WuXian

Jiang Cheng/Wei WuXian

Lan WangJi/Wei WuXian/Jiang Cheng

Lan WangJi/Wei WuXian/Wen Ning

(Or, honestly, if you want to throw these four together into one plot, that’s fine by me, too.)

The Scum Villain’s Self-saving System (SVSSS):

Luo BingHe (Bing-mei)/Shen QingQiu 

Bing-ge/Shen QingQiu & Bing-ge/Shen Yuan

Liu QingGe/Shen QingQiu

Tian Guan Ci Fu (TGCF)/Heaven Official’s Blessing:

Hua Cheng/Xie Lian

He Xuan/Shi QingXuan (beefleaf)

If you've made it here, congratulations! If you're interested, send me an email!

In your email, please tell me the name you preferred me to call you by, your age, what you're interested in roleplaying and which role you want to write for, and any plot/plot points you may have. And anything else you may want to add, of course! Just a little introduction so we can get up to speed.

Don't send me, "wanna rp?" or something along that line of minimal effort, because I, unfortunately, will not respond.

Thanks for taking the time to read this!

[thorns-and-rosewings]

Wild Things

A gift fic for @ninjacat1515 I hope you enjoy it! ^_^

When Eliza first stepped off the boat and onto Raoul Silva’s private island she could tell almost immediately that something was wrong and it wasn’t just because the goons that had escorted her here wouldn’t come off the ship… in fact, no sooner had she set foot on dry land did the men retreat farther back onto the boat and none of them even bothered to unmoor it. They just tore part of the dock off in their haste to leave as fast as humanly possible.

“Okkaay.” The shifter muttered under her breath as she took note of her surroundings and how everything just seemed eerily quiet. In spite of having known Silva for some time she’d never been to his island before. It wasn’t exactly what she’d expected… truth be told everything just seemed far to quiet and there was a strange and pungent odor in the air that smelled distinctly like… fish?

“Ah, you must be Eliza.” The voice of a woman who had just stepped out from the shadows of a nearby building said politely, although her abrupt appearance did make Eliza jump a bit. Unfortunately, she could not help but be on edge, as he had been at the receiving end of Silvas teeth before. Hell, she’d been chomped by the whole frickin’ family before. Old habits truly did die hard, and being on guard around members of the Salazar family may be something she would never truly lose.

Now the woman before her Eliza knew to be, for lack of better words, Silvas evil secretary. The ‘evil’ part having been literally on her resume when he had acquired her services a little over a year ago. Appearance wise, as she wore an attractive light grey what could only be accurately described as the universal ‘Secretary’s Uniform’ and she was even carrying around a clipboard… although oddly enough she wore what appeared to be running shoes rather than traditional heels. Her eyes could only be described as being a very pale lavender and their unusual color was only accentuated by the pair of glasses she had. Finally her hair which was about shoulder length was of an unusual color, just like her eyes. It was not quite white and not quite light blue, so the nearest word to properly describe it would be the color of ice… although while most of it was properly brushed out and neatly tied back into a low hanging ponytail it looked as though the entire left side of her hair had some kind of gel product in it causing the hair to look distorted and messy. “My name is Dana and we’re so glad you could come on such short notice. Mr. Silva is waiting to speak with you, if you’ll just follow me please.”

“Um… yeah.” Eliza muttered as she hesitantly followed the taller woman. While she could tell the woman wasn’t a vampire, she also was quite sure she wasn’t human either. And whatever she was Eliza had a feeling it wasn’t a particularly cuddly critter. “Silva mentioned something about a problem you guys are having here. But he never got specific beyond the urgency for me to pack my bag and get out here as fast as possible… so what gives?”

“Well…” Dana momentarily trailed off as the sounds of something crashing were heard echoing from somewhere farther inland. But the brief pause allowed Eliza to take notice of a multitude of tears in Danas clothes that exposed a multitude of shallow but nonetheless painful looking cuts. Definitely not the kind of wounds vampires tended to make, and Silva was very against injuring his employees so they were not likely to have come from him… still Dana regained herself and continued moving, although now at a far faster pace. “I’m afraid it’s a very difficult situation to explain.”

“Try me.”

“Mr. Silva will tell you all about it.” She stated firmly effectively ending the conversation for the remainder of their walk. It wasn’t to long before they came to what appeared to be the ruins of what was once an enormous statue and sure enough there was Silva…

Silva may have been smiling his trademark happy yet evil smile but his appearance was… off… to say the least. For starters his pricey suit was a wreck, completely ripped up and completely missing its left sleeve and the biggest red flag was that all the hair on the left side of his head was styled straight upwards with the same gel that was messily smeared in Danas hair as well. It was not a good look, made even more unnerving by how the look in Silva’s eyes practically screamed he was about ready to completely lose it. “Ah welcome dear sweet Eliza!” He said, his voice careful to hide how his obvious agitation behind his usual seemingly happy demeanor.  “Thank you so much for coming here in such a hurry.”

“What’s going on Silva?” Eliza asked flatly.

“Straight to the point as ever? Fine, fine. Walk with me and I will explain everything.” Silva said calmly gesturing with his hand for Eliza to follow him. Immediately Dana was her bosses side and Eliza internally groaned as she realized that she was probably going to have an entire tour of the island before he got to the point. “The story begins a few months ago, surely you’re aware of the most recent problem the world seems to be having. You know, how dinosaurs seem to be popping up everywhere and causing all kinds of mayhem? Of course you know... Why just a few short days ago you had to scare off one of the three-horned beasties that had wandered onto your beloved sanctuary.”

“How did you… you know what nevermind. I don’t think I want to know how you know this stuff.” The shifter growled lowly. Inwardly remembering her complete shock of seeing an actual Triceratops calmly walking through the grounds of her sanctuary. It had been a majestic scene, until the creature took notice of all the people watching it and got spooked and ultimately charged at the gathering of shifters. Resulting in a great deal of property damage and Eliza needing to take the form of Beast in order to drive it away… Although her words did little more than make Silva burst out in a fit of mock laughter.

“Satellites my dear! Nothings easier than commandeering a satellite to just check in on the people I care about the most.” The flashy vampire pointed out although his words didn’t make the fact that he had been spying on her via hacking a satellite any less disturbing.

“You have entirely too much free time and too many toys.”

“Regardless.” He said waving off the young woman’s obvious annoyance. “Well you’re sure to find out sooner or later. But the truth is that the animals were rescued from their now molten crater of a home, only to be sold off to anyone who could afford them. Be it arms dealers, pharmaceutical companies or big-game hunters.” Silva paused, noting how Eliza had stopped walking and was now staring at him with a look filled with nothing short of abject horror. “Not exactly a happy story I’m afraid, but it’s important that you know the origins of my current dilemma.”

“Silva, tell me you didn’t have anything to do with all mayhem that’s going on now.” The shifter demanded.

“Of course I’m not responsible for things ending up as crazy as they are now! However…” He trailed off, clearly looking for the right words in order to continue his story. “You see… In recent times I’ve had some unpleasant dealings with a Russian arms dealer. Nasty fellow, got on my nerves relatively quickly and even had the audacity to sell me a cache of weapons that were nothing but duds! So, when I heard that he was attending this little event in order to acquire some dangerous carnivores to be his own personal attack dogs I just had to be a thorn in his side and purchase whatever creature he really wanted the most. So, I sent Dana to the auction on my behalf.”

“And that is when the trouble began.” Dana acknowledged, just as Eliza suddenly noticed that the evil secretary had gone quite pale and looked like she was ready to become physically sick. But she suppressed it masterfully and continued on… “Our target became very interested in a prototype creature called an Indoraptor. You remember the stories about the Indominus Rex? Well this creature is a smaller derivative of that beast. And naturally, we outbid him…”

“However the preview model was not the one that we received.” Silva groaned apparently too distracted to have taken notice of his secretaries’ moment of sickness. “That one got lose or something… But right when I thought I blew $29 million. A beast was delivered to my lovely home.”

“So let me get this straight… You bought a breed of dinosaur that is pretty much a living weapon and I’m going to just take a shot in the dark here; it’s running loose all over this island and trying to kill everyone and everything?” She stared at the vampire, honestly not entirely sure what to think of his entire story. But the one thing was becoming painfully clear… When any kind of revenge or payback was involved, in spite of his vast intellect… Silva was a complete moron driven only by his anger and no common sense.

Sensing the young woman’s ire the blond man sighed and rubbed his temples. “Yes and no.” He muttered. “I received an Indoraptor all right, but I can definitely see why they did not show this one as the preview model! If they had it would’ve made the geneticist a laughing stock!”

“What-”

“He’s cuddly.” The vampire said flatly. “2000 pounds of raw muscle, teeth and claws and the damn thing is freaking cuddly. Mind you when we first received it, it was showing all the signs of an abused animal. Even had terrific scarring on its hide, like someone beat it with chains and then let the wounds get infected and the animal then scratched them raw. It was actually quite sad… But we fed him, gave it a large room to stalk around in, mostly while we were trying to figure what the heck to actually do with him, because I will admit I didn’t exactly plan this out as well as I should have.” He paused as a small smile creeped onto his features. “Until one day one of the feeders left the latch on the door open and he got out… we prepared for the worst, only low and behold. The big beastie was like a giant cat. All he wanted was pets and hugs. It was hilarious! But I was able to have this creature stalking around my home while I’m speaking with my business clientele and they are completely terrified him. Usually begging me not to sick it on them. Thus, negotiations almost always went my way…”

“Or at least that’s how things were until recently.” Dana muttered. “All of a sudden his personality has completely flipped. I watched him drag away one of our employees the other day. As you have noticed the majority of our staff got on a boat and is remaining offshore until things calm down, cant say I blame them… considering we have a multitude of personnel who are still missing and we can only assume that they are either in hiding or dead. I’m guessing dead because or so called pet, went for both Raoul and myself.”

“Thing about abused animals,” Eliza said calmly, carefully noting how Dana had accidentally referred to Silva by his first name. “some can be overly affectionate out of fear, and when they aren’t afraid anymore… you better watch out.”

“Thanks a lot Dr. Dolittle.” Dana injected flatly. “Point is, Indigo is now out of control and needs to be dealt with.”

“Indigo?”

“Its name, apparently they were identified by colors in place of names.” Silva said as more visible cracks in his demeanor and he smiled in a semi insane way. “Now this is where you come in, dear Eliza. I need you to go in there and take care of this problem for me. I would be beyond grateful for your assistance!”

“All right, this is the part where I tell you to go screw yourself. You’re the idiot went and bought an animal you can’t control! Besides, just what would you have me do about it anyway?!”

“We are aware that you can turn into a Tyrannosaurus Rex.” Dana injected. “Our hope was that you could… deal with our little problem before things get even more out of control than they already are.”

Now it all made sense and truth be told Eliza wasn’t having any of it. They expected her to come all this way only to get into a vicious and bloody fight? Well they had another thing coming for them! “Oh no, I am not getting all ripped up because you-”

“If you do this for me, I’ll completely pay for all the damages the dinosaur rampage inflicted on your sanctuary.” Silva broke down and literally pleaded. “I am begging you! He’s driving me absolutely crazy!!!” Now Eliza had seen many things over the course of her life that most people would never believe. But the sight of Raoul Silva, perhaps the greatest hacker in the world, clearly on the razors edge of sanity was definitely one of the most unnerving… Dare she say it, she felt… bad for him… In spite of everything that happened between them, she still felt bad for him.

God damn it…

(20 Minutes Later)

 Eliza cautiously made her way through the winding labyrinth of buildings and wreckage that covered the majority of Silva’s Island. Armed with only her natural born instincts as a shifter and a walkie-talkie to communicate with Dana and Silva when the deed was done. She had been told that the Indoraptor had been seen predominantly around the building that housed Silva’s computer mainframe and network systems. So that was the place she was beginning her hunt.

Upon reaching the building she cautiously open the door and peered inside only to be greeted with the sight of what had undoubtedly driven Silva insane… well more insane… a mountain of destroyed computer equipment.

Eliza whistled in an impressed way as a few sparks of electricity erupted out of some exposed wires. “No wonder Silva is losing his mind. I always imagined nothing would make him want to cry more than the sound of his precious computers breaking.” Just inside and got nearer the wreckage, only to become fully aware of the strange sound that sounded bizarrely like a voice… granted it was very low and laced with static, almost as though it was generated by one of the destroyed computers that littered the ground.

“Sssssiilvva?” The voice came through the static again. Only it seemed to be even more garbled, yet still the single word it was saying was discernable. Eliza stopped feeling her heart fall into her stomach as a massive form moved out of the shadows of the room.

It was big, not T Rex big… but still pretty darn big. Its hide was as black as ebony although was very noticeably riddled with scars that looked just as Silva had described, like someone had taken a bike chain and whipped it. It had very large pale blue eyes and perhaps its most noticeable feature, a thick indigo colored stripe running down the entire length of its body. In its mouth was what Eliza could only speculate to be the wreckage of what was once a pricey laptop.

The creature walked forward and with a surprising amount of precision put the destroyed laptop on oddly arranged pile of mangled computer equipment, even taking an extra moment or so to make sure that the piece was placed in just a certain way. Clearly whatever it was doing was deliberate and thought out. What Eliza never got the chance to finish marveling at the creature’s apparent intelligence as it turned its attention completely onto her and after a moment there came a low staticy word of “Meat.” And it suddenly charged at her. The vision of this animal lunging at her brought about an immediate involuntary reaction and suddenly Beast towered above the monstrous hybrid and with one swat of her tail she sent the Indoraptor flying and crashing into its carefully arranged pile of junk.

Beast roared angrily at the Indoraptor and just as she was getting ready to charge a garbled mess of static erupted from where the creature had landed. Static that once again sounded suspiciously like words and so panicked that it made even Beast pause. Was there someone else in here with them?

“No hurt! No hurt Indigo!” The voice said again only now Beast realized that this voice was actually calming from the Indoraptor! It was pretty safe to say that no one had ever seen a T-Rex drop its jaw in total shock… Well, there’s a first time for everything because that’s exactly what happened.

The hybrids head cautiously poked out from where it had landed and it looked up at Beast nervously. “Big. Really big.” Came the static laced words again. After a moment its head disappeared and suddenly the creature popped out of the rubble with a very large fish in its jaws. It cautiously approached the Rex before putting the fish on the ground and nudging it closer to what could potentially be its aggressor. “Eat fishy not Indigo?”

Beast stared, in both the human and animal portions of her mind this entire situation had gone in a completely bizarre direction. Unfortunately for the Eliza portion of her mind beast came to her senses a bit quicker and actually decided to eat the offered raw and somewhat rancid fish. The taste was pretty bad and the human gag reflex managed to force her out of her transformation and she fell to the floor coughing, trying to spit out some of the disgusting taste that still lingered on her tongue. Unfortunately, her rapid reduction in size led the creature to get closer… A lot closer… actually by the time Eliza looked up this thing was now mere inches from her face, looking at her and sniffing curiously.

“Small now.” The barely audible voice said with a tone of interest. “Who you?”

Eliza didn’t answer, quite frankly she was spending more time trying to wrap her brain around the fact that this creature was somehow talking.

“Who you?” It asked again. This time words making the shifter come to her senses and answer before it decided to lose its patience with her and try to eat her again.

“Eliza.” He said hastily and then decided what the hell and gave something a shot and pointed to herself. “Friend of Silva.”

“You pack?” It asked tilting his head to the side a little before seeming to answer its own question and the damn thing nodded and suddenly pressed its head into her chest and rubbed emitting a deep purring sound in a friendly manner. “Pack good.”

“Yeahhhh.” She trailed off, just as she took notice of something around the animals’ neck that looked like some kind of collar. And suddenly it dawned on her and Eliza inwardly swore left right and sideways.

“Leave it to Raoul Silva to find a real world working version of the ‘Talking Collars’ from the movie ‘Up’ and put it on his fricking raptor!” She inwardly hissed. Although she also took note that it looked a bit damaged and while the raptor was rubbing up against her she carefully pushed the damage components back into place. Hopefully fixing the static problem but she wouldn’t know until it tried to talk again. Remembering her task, she suddenly pushed the big beasties head away from her and stood up.

“Your… Indigo right?”

“Me indigo. You Eliza.” It chirped happily. The static now gone from its voice and allowing it to be properly identified as a male and a full emotional range to be distinctly notable its tones. “You help Indigo now?” He asked as his tail wagged slightly in a playful manner.

“You want me to… help you?” Eliza echoed not entirely clear what the animal, Indigo, actually wanted. “Help you with what?”

Indigo suddenly hopped up and began running around the piles of wrecked equipment and began to reorganize them. At the same time also revealing that among all of the sharp pieces were numerous pillows and blankets, even clothing all arranged into a ring. And right in the center was a pile of rotting stinking ocean dwelling fish. There was even a dead Mola Mola propped up in one corner! He suddenly returned and began to much more forcefully push his head against Eliza, directing her out the door and into the central courtyard. “Help Indigo find meat! Meat from not-pack humans!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Eliza said as she maneuvered herself away from the hybrid beast. “You can’t eat humans! Bad! Bad Indigo!”

“Indigo not eating humans!” The creature defended, actually taking a step backward like Eliza had cracked a whip on him. “Red bite humans, they made Red sad with zaps. Red always cry until he died… Green ate human, Green got shot dead. Violet bit doctor human, doctor human made Violet dumb with cuts to her head. Violet die. Gold…” Indigo trailed off right around the time that Eliza started to feel sick when she realized that Indigo was in fact talking about other Indoraptors he must have been created with. Animals that had no doubt suffered badly if this story was any indication. “Gold was psychopath. Gold ate humans, but gold was big. Gold was frightening. Gold never got in same trouble as others. Indigo once tasted human meat, but taste bad… Indigo like fish, not meat. Fishy better.”

“If you’re not eating them what did you mean when you said that you want to find… meat.” She pressed. Now officially starting to think that that Silva and Dana had mistaken this animals recently developed strange habits as signs of aggression. And the damaged collar had no doubt inhibited their ability to understand whatever he had been trying to say. All in all, he seemed like a pretty tame creature, if not a goofy one. Fuck… he was adorable in a menacing-predator-that-is-scared-of-a-butterfly sort of way.

“Indigo trade.” He replied simply. “Indigo trade meat for fish.”

“Riiiight…” Eliza looked at him skeptically. “So, you throw them in the ocean?”

“Yes! Throw meat in water, catch fish in return. Fair trade.” All right, that pretty much explained the whole situation. Indigo wasn’t killing off Silva’s goons, he was throwing in the ocean as some sort of weird ritual he believed would help him catch fish. Like he believed something was actually giving him fish in exchange for people. So chances were fairly high that all the men who had disappeared were actually alive and all right, just probably well-hidden on another portion of the island away from the raptor.

“You don’t want to hurt Silva do you? Or Dana?”

“Never, Silva pack! Dana pack! Baby will be pack!” The raptor screeched, literally screeched with some earsplitting roar mixed in with the artificial voice of the collar.

Eliza blinked once in slight confusion. “What baby?” But then she stopped as a realization dawned on her.

…Oh…

(A few minutes later)

Silva and Dana cautiously entered what had once upon a time been the computer room. Only a few steps inside they were greeted with the sight of Eliza scratching Indigo’s belly and the big raptor laying there and enjoying it. It was not the site they had expected to see when the young woman had radioed them and informed them that she had dealt with the situation. Upon noticing the vampire and his secretaries arrival a cheeky grin spread across Eliza’s face.

“So you to finally got here. I’m sure he found something to do in order to keep yourselves entertained while I handled everything?” She really tried, but was still unable to hide all of the smugness in her voice.

“What’s going on?” Silva demanded as he cast his eyes over the now apparently docile Indigo. “How in the world did you fix this?”

Eliza snickered a bit. “Turns out he wasn’t getting aggressive at all. He was getting protective.” She then gestured over to the ring of broken equipment with the pile of fish in the center. “Do you know what that is Silva?” Judging by his look of growing agitation, no doubt directed completely at her not getting straight to the point… no, no he did not. “It’s a nest… He was making you guys a nest.”

“What in the world fo- Gah!!” Dana started, only to find herself being grabbed by Indigo and dragged over to the nest. As the big hybrid did so, a pair of large feathery wings unfurled from her back and her hands became very sharp claws… revealing her true form to be a harpy… but before she got a chance to use her claws she was dumped in the middle of the nest. And then a fish was dropped in her lap… She just sat there for a moment completely dumbstruck and unable to grasp just what the hell was going on.

“It would seem Mr. Silva, that you have fallen victim to an age-old temptation… and thus you’ve knocked up your secretary… classy… Oh and congratulations, I’ll be sure to send you a fruit basket.” Eliza could no longer contain herself and burst out laughing as the look of sheer bewilderment slowly spread across Silva’s face. Not to mention that Dana looked every bit as dumbfounded as her employer and apparently, secret lover.

In spite of the mirth everyone really should have been paying a bit more attention to what was going on around them. Especially when Indigo’s head perked up and his attention became locked on a lone figure that had just entered the room. It was one of Silva’s missing thugs and judging by his disheveled appearance he had been hiding for some time. Probably only coming out when he thought that his employer’s pet was no longer out of control. He had been quietly approaching Silva from the behind, no doubt right about to ask what was going on… When all of a sudden Indigo snarled and rushed forward, which of course resulted in this man screaming and running away. Naturally he didn’t get very far and Indigo grabbed him with his mouth, not in a way that would have severely injured him but in a more than effective way to drag this man wherever he wanted.

The laughter was almost immediately cut short and was promptly replaced with all three of them chasing after the hybrid creature, screaming for him to stop and put the man down. Even with the vampires incredible speed he wasn’t able to keep up with his pet. Indigo raced all the way down to the water’s edge on the north side of the island and in a single surprisingly swift movement he flung the man far out into the ocean.

“Indigo you beast! What are you doing?!” Silva demanded as he raised his hand and gave the raptor very hard swipe with his claws. It was not a particularly hard strike, as much as it was supposed to get the creature’s attention. Of course it worked, maybe a little too well, as the motion made Indigo cower and whine. No doubt due to past traumatic memories.

“It’s all right Silva! He’s not actually hurting anybody!” Eliza stated trying to diffuse the situation. “He just thinks throwing people in the water makes it easier to catch fish for some reason.” Before Silva could reply, there was a splashing sound from the water and when everyone looked… The man was gone. Indigo’s head perked up and he looked expectantly towards the water.

“Trade.” He said calmly. “Trade with friend. Meat for fish.”

A rather cold, unpleasant feeling settled in the trio’s stomachs at that moment. With Dana being the only one actually finding the ability to say what was on everyone else’s mind and she quietly asked. “Who is your friend?” And right on cue, no less than several hundred massive and varying fish were abruptly thrown out of the water and smacked with a great deal of force into all the parties watching, with the only exception being Indigo. Who had been smart enough to stand off to the side… A massive form surfaced from beneath the water and a large reptilian eye looked upon the group. After a moment the Mosasaur submerged… but not before it smacked its flipper in the air several times in a distinctive waving motion. To which the Indoraptor merely chirped happily back in its direction and waved as well…

In spite of now smelling like 15 kinds of different fish, Eliza still managed to watched this scene and laugh weakly. Very much aware of the angry glares she was getting from the vampire and the harpy.

“Well… that’s definitely not good.”

[insidemyblood]

starter for Raoul Silva || @hatilead

Mason smiled, pleased, looking at his monitors while his security made sure to let his guest into the private office of his yacht, where no one could disturb them. “Yes, Prime Minister, I’ll see to that and I’ll let you know the details,” he said and hung up his phone. These politicians would sell their soul in a heartbeat...

"Mister Silva, I'm glad you made it," he greeted the other man, standing up and offering his hand.  "Sorry about all the... formalities, I'm sure you'll understand.”

“Y'know, I wasn't sure it was going to be you, the real you I mean. So many others have tried to replicate your codes. Needless to say they've all failed."

[akwelvhi]

R is for Raoul

Category: 007 Games 2017

- for Angst week, prompt table 004 fill; capture and helplessness.

Setting: Canon divergence, pre-Skyfall.

Warning: Angst. Torture. Rape/non-con. Hurt!Q. Hurt!R. A probable squick that’s possibly a spoiler so - please scroll right down to the end of the cut for full list of warnings including the possible spoiler.

Thank you @10kiaoi and @sunaddicted for beta-reading this, and @spiritofcamelot, @opalescentgold , @jaimistoryteller for the sprints and tips. This 3k+ one-shot took horrendously long to type I’m so glad it’s done (at the end of angst week too).

.

R is for Raoul 

.

Do not wait for that silver lining... It’s not coming. 

It’s too late.

“R.” Q hissed as he struggled against the electrical tape wrapped too tightly around his wrists. “R!” The Quartermaster nudged his second with his bound feet. But the pale haired man remained silent, staring blankly at his lap. He didn’t struggle when they captured him, and he wasn’t struggling now.

From the moment both Q and R were snatched into the van - literally right under MI6 - Q had been fighting tooth and nail. They were right there! In the basement of MI6. Their best chance for escape was before their captors had a chance to leave the building. Yet out they drove unhindered, as though security all simultaneously decided to go for a tea break.

“R!?” He was worried. Raoul hadn’t uttered a word since their capture. Q had a beefy hand slapped against his mouth when he started to shout. And R? With his grey-green eyes downcast. He had went along obligingly almost. Even now when they were dumped in this steel enforced cell. He remained still.

The door slammed open suddenly and Q’s eyes widened as he took in the figure that had entered. It was R.

The man that stood at the threshold of the room was the split image of his second that sat bound in front of him. The only difference was their clothing - R in dark slacks with a grey cardigan over a white shirt. While the man was wearing a cream coloured tailored suit.

“There you are!” The man exclaimed pleasantly, a wide warm smile stretching his lips as he sauntered over to R who looked up at the approaching figure. Recognition, horror then despair flashing across his face. The man’s hand curled lovingly around R’s neck.

“Raoul, my love.” The man crooned, his voice dropping to a husky rumble. He hoisted R up by his collar, kissing R roughly.

“No!” R shouted as he tore his face away. Identical faces with expressions at such polar opposites. Q stared, unable to wrap his mind around the madness, as the two Raoul’s stared at each other.

“We’ll have plenty of time love,” the man smiled serenely. “I’ll be sure to give you all of my special treatments.”

“No,” R had begun to struggle now. “No!”

The man frowned, his warm smile tipping several degrees lower as R kept struggling. Q watched helplessly as those long fingers gripping at R’s neck and arm clenched tighter. Still disconcerted by the likeness of the man and R’s face - one smoothed into a mask of controlled anger, the other pale and splotchy. His repeated pleas dissolved to pained whimpers as cruel fingers digged in.

“Now now my love.” The man fumed softly. “You know this would be so much more easier if you cooperated.” He waited, looking expectantly at R, whose face twisted suddenly in disgust. 

“Never!” R spat, fueled by whatever the man’s words had triggered in him. R began struggling again, heedless of the grip the man still had on his arm and neck.

“Fine.” The name said simply, dropping R who fell to the floor on his back. R breathed hard through his nose, eyes sharp and wary as he watched the man who gave his crisp white suit a few tugs. Then strode over to Q.

“No no no no! Tiago, wait!” R’s chants increasing in trepidation as the man, Tiago, grabbed Q and hauled him to the door. R’s struggles to get up and persistent calls were ignored. 

“In the meantime,” Tiago said as he easily tossed Q out of the room, where several muscled guards stood waiting, “you’ll keep my men entertained.”

Tiago stalked off down the long hallway, one of the guards dragging Q along, as the rest of them entered the cell R remained in.

-

Raoul Silva made an exceptional second for Q Branch. Stepping into the last Quartermaster’s shoes wasn’t something the young Q was worried about. Gaining the respect and recognition from the branch he now commanded, yes, that worried him. Q thought he’d have a power struggle issue with R - the most senior staff - and the most charismatic one to boot. But Raoul had instead became Q’s most reliable colleague, and his first friend in MI6.

They hit it off exceptionally well. With Q’s own adept take over of the branch, transforming it into the technological heart of MI6. Together with R’s rapport with the rest of the staff, the both of them made quite the team. Head and main lead of the minions of Q branch. 

Q would have never imagined Raoul to be anything but what he was. 

On hindsight, Q realised he should have done a background check on him. If he had digged far enough, Q would have found records of a twin, separated, a few decades back.

-

Q was tossed back in the cell, just as one of the burly guards was stepping out. A glimpse of the guard’s blood streaked penis before he tucked it in, to the sight of R curled up on the floor, pants around his ankles. Horror and realisation brought a strangled cry out of Q as he made to move over to R. 

“Oh my love,” Tiago sighed as he shoved Q away before he reached R’s body. The man gently lifting his twin from the floor onto his lap. Q tried to focus as his vision spun, his eyes fixed on how the blood from between Raoul’s legs smeared Tiago’s white pants. How R remained still as his brother caressed his face lovingly, before redressing him with a tenderness Q simply couldn’t believe.

This same man, who only minutes earlier was beating Q to a bloody pulp, carefully tugging R’s clothes back on. The blood oozing from the cut on his eyebrow trickled down his eye just as a hacking cough seized him. When Q opened his eyes again, Raoul and Tiago were gone. 

-

"Raoul and I, we're soulmates. He was meant to be with me."

The words flew past Q the moment they hauled him into that room. All he saw was R.

R with his eyes open and vacant, head moving sluggishly. Drugged. His breathing so shallow Q was only sure after staring for seconds. Last he saw R, Tiago had taken him away, three days ago by Q's count.

"I knew we would have a special bond. I felt it, very early on."

Tiago didn't stop there, he went on and on and on. The more he spoke, and waxed poetry on his belief that his twin Raoul belonged to him. How it turned and twisted into an obsession. A possessiveness that took a morbid turn when the twins turned twelve.

By the time they were thirteen, Tiago had coerced Raoul into many things, sick perverted things. Q's head was spinning with the stereotypical villain monologue, he held his breath, waiting for 007 or anyone from MI6 to burst through the wall right then and there. Instead, Tiago kept on his sharing his ecstatic experience of wanting his twin brother - mind, body and soul.

He recalls an article on Gilles de Rais - stumbled on while he hunted down a child sex-trafficking ring - and he imagines Tiago as Gilles. And Raoul as a child. The bile in his empty stomach came burning up in his throat. Q's mind blanked out for several minutes as the words 'first time we made love' sent him into shock, body temperature plummeting as his eyes stared ahead, unseeing.

A harsh slap whipped his neck and rocked his whole torso, Q gasping as he blinked and saw cruel eyes set in a face Q knew well.  

"Did you miss the glorious details dear quartermaster?" Tiago chided, sniffing at Q before he strode over to Raoul. "Not to worry, I'm sure I can coax a reenactment out of my love." Raoul remained motionless where he was strapped to a metal bench.

One of Tiago's guards had stepped up behind Q, an arm across his chest, locking Q to face the two at the bench. Q turned his head away.

"Now now quartermaster, this show is specially for you." Tiago's tone chastising as he brought the taser down to tap at Raoul's bare thigh.

A startled shout echoing off the walls as the naked body jolted against the restraints. His earlier vacant eyes alight with panic as they darted towards Tiago, then Q, and back to Tiago. The sound that escaped Raoul's lips would haunt Q. As would the sight of R, straining against the straps that held him down with all the intensity of a desperate struggle. The man looming before him undoing his belt, shifting forward, triggering a sudden bout of shouted pleas.  

Even with his ears ringing, he could still hear the sound of the belt falling against the metal bench. The rustle of clothing. Grunts, pants, screams and more screams. Q had turned his head away till his neck ached. But with his hands bound behind his back, he couldn't block out the awful sounds. Auditory feedback painted its own picture in his mind's eye.

A rough hand grabbed at Q's jaw in a bruising grip, ensuring he couldn't turn his face away. Q's own breaths heaving out of him, as he forced himself to breath faster. Seeing faint white sparks behind his eyelids with how tightly he squeezed them shut.

Dorsal recumbent. Lithotomy. Dorsal recumbent. Supine. Dorsal- Supine. Supine. Supine.

Q forced his brain to words. Forced the words to binary. Binary to morse.

Inhale at every dash. Chasing an exhale at every dot. Looped, over and over again.

The hand at his jaw shifted to cover his mouth, he hadn't realised he was whispering rapidly to himself. The sound of a sharp slap startled Q to open his eyes. Immediately squeezing them shut again. Too late however as the image burned from behind his retinas into his brain.

Between his frantic run through of morse and binary, and his forced pants stinging his nostrils. It was the guard's unforgiving hand over his mouth, slipping up to block his nose, that did it.

Q welcomed the darkness as it came to save him.

-

Hacking coughs laced pain across Q's chest and up his throat as he continued to gag and dry heave. They had thrown him back in the cell, where he promptly leapt to the bucket in the corner and vomited.

Raoul's face - twisted in pain, despair - the anguish in his fever bright eyes. How when his gaze, fixed on the ceiling, drifted and caught sight of his quartermaster. Being made to watch.

Q squeezed his eyes shut, breaths heaving his chest and moving his head along it's rapid rhythm. Q tucked his chin in harder, wrapped his arms around himself tighter, fought to keep the vision out. Like it was a physical force raining blows on him. If only it was something as easy to block out as Tiago's cronies bashing him up. If only he could un-see, delete all traces of the video playback from his brain.

Shifting his arms as he rocked himself, Q felt them brush off his glasses that were on his head, heard them clatter to the floor. Focusing on the sound of plastic and metal frames connecting the cold hard concrete. Directing his thoughts to physics - sound waves - and chemistry - components: calcium oxide, silica.

He recalls R staring at the grey slush in R&D. A soft encouragement on his lips, bringing a hesitant smile to their newest minion.

R behind his desk at Q branch. Reddened-eyes squinting as he sent Q resources during a 47 hour mission.

R leaning back in his chair with a laugh. Kate had called him dashing in his Slytherin-green pinstripe shirt.

R with his head bent close to his two screens. Quiet and unassuming as Q scanned the list of his own completed reports, all he had to do was sign.

R and his brilliance saving the minion's hack against Q. Paying for the five dozen celebratory doughnuts before Q even reached for his wallet.

R. Raoul. His second in command. Adored by all, minions, Q, and even most of the 00's.

Q grasped on to that, with clenching fingers. Desperately holding onto the memory he has of R. The R of Q branch, where he should be. Q allowed himself to reminisce, lulling his tensed muscles. His curled body slumped against the wall as he fell into a fitful sleep.

-

Through a twist of morbid luck, the tiny button had popped out of his shoulder through a large gash during a punching bag session. Q prayed to whatever deities above and the micro-GPS button remained intact in the corner it had rolled in.

Between that time and now, Q had managed to activate the distress signal, sharing his location to Q branch. Before he swallowed the button, dirt, blood and all. All Q had to do now, was find out where they took R, and wait for retrieval.

Hours later, or the next day, Q wasn’t sure anymore. Tiago came by his cell again. Q didn’t have much time to formulate a plan, and with his head swimming in and out of consciousness, he hadn’t really thought of how he was going to find R. 

“Ah, my beloved Raoul.” Tiago crooned. He must have said something about R to Tiago, Q couldn’t remember what. “We were separated for so long, but he is mine again now.” 

His captor always spoke about Raoul, sharing updates Q would rather have not known. It reminded Q of the last time he had seen Raoul, strapped naked on that table. Q sucked in a shaky breath, willing his brain to get rid of that memory. Every visit from Tiago reinforced Q’s belief that Raoul’s twin was a sadistic psychopath with a sick sense of morality. 

“He knew I was coming for him you know.” Raoul’s twin said, as Q's breathing slowed down. He always waited for Q to stop screaming and catch his breath before he spoke. He wanted his words to achieve their full effect. Torturing the quartermaster, his body, and his mind.

-

Q was often left alone in the cell. Tiago would visit him to mentally torture him. When the guards sent Q his bottle of water - sometimes a stale piece of bread - they'd leave him be. When they had to empty the bucket, they'd beat him up some, then leave him be.

But alone, Q's mind was his only weapon. He kept a check on his body, and he kept a tight check on his mind. He'd count his binary set's in ten, clenching each finger to keep count. He'd keep track of days passing, with the schedule of water bottles, and emptied buckets. But he knew his count wasn't for sure.

So when day 5 came, he thought it was 7. When day 6 came, he thought it was 9.

Since swallowing the button, Q knew for sure it hadn't exited his body. But the micro-GPS had not been tested against the digestive tract's acidity. It could be sizzling away in Q's stomach for all he knew. Signal lost, and Q branch scampering.

When day 7 came, he thought it was 12. Q was losing hope. He hadn't seen R since --- Q shuddered, going through the numbers of pi. When he could breathe again, he picked up his train of thought, and realised that he hadn't seen R for more than a week. With the horror of knowing what had unfolded in just the first three days, Q shuddered, thinking of R undergoing all that. For more than a week. Q cried, then tried to plan. Q screamed his frustrations then was knocked out when a guard came to shut him up with a blow to his head.

Q woke up with a gasp, blood rushing to his fingertips, of his unbound hands.

"Q! Q!" A voice was shouting, as Q struggled to keep his eyes open. The sharp scent of ammonia hit his senses and Q found himself breathing in too quickly and for too long, choking on his breath. The sight of 007 and 006 greeted him. 006 gently straightened his legs as 007 wrapped his warm hands around Q's bare feet. The pins and needles fading from his hands, but still numb across his ankles. They heard gunshots and shouting and 007 was hoisting Q up. 006 watching the hallway from the door, gun at ready. At his signal they left the cell.

"Here, in here!" Q gasped, waving his hand at one of the doors down a turn, opposite from the one they just took. Q recognised it as the one Tiago brought him in, where R was. 006 kicked it in, brandishing his gun, took one sweeping look before he spun around. Alec exchanged a look with Bond, Q didn't hear them speak, but the next moment 007 had a firmer grip around him. Leading him hurriedly away from R's room.

"Is R in there?" He craned his neck to ask 006 who stood still as 007 led them away. "Get him out!" Q shouted, struggling weakly in Bond's firm grip. "Alec! Get R!"

Something flickered in 006's eyes, but Q wasn't sure, 007 and him were too far for Q to see Alec's face before the agent went back in the room.

"Bond, we must get R. He's - he-" Q kept trying to look back, hoping to see 006 behind them, with R.

"Let's get you out of here first." Bond grunted, half lifting Q along faster as a door unlocked for them. Bringing them to some type of service balcony. An agent Q didn't recognised signaled at them and Bond rushed over, nodded at the agent, wrapped his arms tight around Q. And jumped.

The free fall was very brief - they were probably on the second floor - but the landing was jarring despite the bags of rubbish and Bond's body cushioning him. Disorientated, Q felt himself being hauled up and bodily carried into a vehicle. They were speeding away by the time he blinked his vision back to focus.

"Wait." He called out breathlessly. "Wait! 007!"

"Alec has his car." Bond replied distractedly as he drove like a madman, eyes darting from the front to the side mirrors, to the rear view, before peeking at his blind spot.

"R! What about R?! If he's not in that room, then the other rooms?" Q shouted, turning in his seat to look out the rear window. Tiago definitely still had him. "Bond! Tiago, the man, he- he looks like R! Did you get him? He has R!"

"Not now Q." Bond swerved, bullets ricocheting off the side and back of the car. Bond cursed a streak and swerved again. The momentum had Q sliding off his seat onto the floor, his head slamming sideways against the door. Q blacked out again.

-

"You- No! You didn't find him!" Q shouted, as Eve calmly held onto Q's arm as she unhooked the IV fluids bag and placed it on the bed. Q ignored her, glaring hell at Alec.

"He's dead Q." Alec repeated, his eyes met Q's briefly, but looked back down as Q accused him.

"If you blew up that building, before finding him, of- bloody- course he's dead!" He seethed, heedless of the spittle, or the pain in his hand. He made a move to yank the IV needle out, but Eve's hand was in the way.

"I saw him Q. I-" Alec hesitated, looking back up imploringly at his quartermaster. Alec's gaze pleaded, but Q didn't want to see. He didn't want to believe this.

"NO! Where is he?! I ordered you to get R!" He shouted still, even when he felt his voice wavering. He glared still, even when moisture pooled in his eyes.

"I checked his pulse. I couldn't- the straps, there were, and-" Alec, smooth talker Alec, struggled with his words. The image of limbs and skin so swollen, the straps had cut into skin. The bulging skin on either side of the straps all stained red, while the rest of the skin - a pasty grey.  "They were closing in on us-" Q branch in Alec's ear had been near frantic, ordering Alec to leave the building. To leave the body. "I checked his pulse again."

Q sucked in a deep breath, ready to yell at the agent and his stupid sad face. A horrible sound escaped him when he opened his mouth. Forcing it close as his bit down on his lip, Q buried his face in his hands, his hands fisting the material of the hospital gown.

He doesn't remember heaving out sobs as his face grew wetter. He doesn't remember coughing into his lap as his body curled up on itself. He doesn't remember Eve's arms around him, nor does he see Alec step out, horror and anguish in his eyes.

Q is quiet the next day. He looks up when Bond and Alec visit him, Alec shuffling on his feet uncomfortably, as Q responded to whatever Bond said with silence.

Q doesn't speak again until he's discharged, a week later. Then only to M, to report.

Q goes back to Q branch proper five days after that, a week early, considering his mandated leave. Q thought he would feel better, in his domain, his branch. But his eyes couldn't help but glance at R's empty desk every so often.

R's desk remained empty, for six long months, before M reluctantly mandated Q to promote someone. The third in command filled up R's post. But it didn't help Q forget.

Little did Q know, his nightmares would live anew. When one Tiago Rodriguez, would take on the name of Raoul Silva. And destroy MI6 from within.

                                                            End

Full list of warnings and squicks listed below:

WARNINGS! WARNINGS! LISTED BELOW! WARNINGS! WARNINGS!

Q and R are captured, tortured - physical violence, bodily injuries, mind-fuckery, Q’s mind is tortured, R is raped (not graphic),  incest + rape (this is a spoiler), psycho villain doing sadistic shit, Q goes a bit crazy, Q suffers mentally more than physically, side-character death.

It’s angst week, and angst to me is torturing the hell out of my characters, there’s no rainbows and cotton candy fluff here. Try next week.

-

172-22412-D159-FDPFNP

[stlukesguild]

007: James Bond

Illustrator Mike Mahle created an intriguing series of posters in which the 007 James Bond films were reimagined:

Bond: “I always enjoyed learning a new tongue.”

Moneypenny: “You always were a cunning linguist, James.” 

Bond: “Miss Anders! I didn’t recognize you with your clothes on.”

Bond: “I’ll do anything for a woman with a knife.”

Largo: “Do you lose as gracefully as you win?” James Bond: “I don’t know, I’ve never lost.”

“History is moving pretty quickly these days, and the heroes and villains keep on changing parts.” -Ian Fleming

Fatima Blush: “Oh, how reckless of me. I made you all wet.” Bond: “Yes, but my martini is still dry.

Bond: “Mmm, maybe I misjudged Stromberg. Any man who drinks Dom Perignon ’52 can’t be all bad.”

Bond: “Which bullet has my name on it? The first or the last?” Agent XXX: “I have never failed on a mission, Commander. Any mission.” Bond: “In that case, Major, one of us is bound to end up gravely disappointed, because neither have I.”

Miss Moneypenny- You've never taken me to dinner... James Bond- I would, you know. Only "M" would have me court-martialed for... illegal use of government equipment.

Tatiana- [Trying on dresses] I will wear this one in Piccadilly. James Bond- You won't. They've just passed some new laws there.

Pussy Galore- My name is Pussy Galore. James Bond- I must be dreaming.

James Bond- Weren't you a blonde when I came in? Tiffany Case- Could be. James Bond- I tend to notice little things like that - whether a girl is a blonde or a brunette. Tiffany Case- Which do you prefer? James Bond- Well, as long as the collar and cuffs match...

James Bond- Good morning. How's the water? Chew Mee- Why don't you come in and find out? James Bond- Sounds very tempting, Miss...? Chew Mee- Chew Mee. James Bond- Really? Well, there's only one small problem. I have no swimming trunks. Chew Mee- Neither have I.

James Bond- Well my dear, I take it you spend quite a lot of time in the saddle. Jenny Flex- Yes, I love an early morning ride. James Bond- Well, I'm an early riser myself.

James Bond- [In bed with Christmas Jones] I was wrong about you. Dr. Christmas Jones- Yeah, how so? James Bond- I thought Christmas only comes once a year.

Elektra King: “I could have given you the world.” Bond: “The world is not enough.” Elektra King: “Foolish sentiment.” Bond: “Family motto.”

The Cigar Girl- Would you like to check my figures? James Bond- Oh, I'm sure they're perfectly rounded.

Verity- I see you handle your weapon well. James Bond- I have been known to keep my tip up.

Raoul Silva- “Well, first time for everything.” Bond- “What makes you think this is my first time?”

[tokyotheglaive]

Could you write prompt number 10 for 00q?? 😍

For you, nonny? Anything at all.

The key line in this fic (you’ll know it when you see it) is indeed from a web series: @bpdcecilpalmer‘s Backwards Compatibility. The line appears here in a short that destroys me every time I read it.

When you touch me, my mind is gone. The only words I know are lost inside your body.

Q doesn’t understand romance. It’s not that he doesn’t want it. He’d like a partner, someone to spend lazy mornings with, who would put up with with his constant tinkering and his odd taste in music and his inability to do the laundry correctly and his fixation for keeping a clean kitchen. He wants someone to go out to eat with, someone who will hold his hand in cabs and kiss him sweetly before he goes to sleep.

It’s just that Q doesn’t pick up on the same cues that everyone else does. He can’t distinguish flirting from small talk. He interprets suggestive figures of speech literally, avoids speaking with strangers when he can, and remains defensive if he’s out in public. He’s considered getting one of those dating apps, but he’s too proud to use someone else’s flawed algorithm.

Years pass. Q is alone. He has his cats, his code, a job, and little else. He’s lonely.

The miraculous, entirely unanticipated return of James Bond, MI6′s 007, changes things.

After they meet in the National Gallery, Q finds himself a bench and sits. He has to because he’s breathing so hard he doesn’t think he can trust his legs to hold him up, and because if he falls someone will try to help. He doesn’t want help, he wants, he wants...

Their hands had brushed--Bond′s and his. Just the briefest of touches as Q handed over the radio he’d crafted. Q stares at his hand, awed. Bond’s hands were warm, strong and calloused. Q doesn’t remember the last time anyone touched him skin-to-skin. He can’t remember; his mind is tangled up in itself, all of the words gone. Images flickered through his brain--Bond on the bench, the painting, the look of his hands as he took the radio.

Q wills himself to stillness. He has to think. He has to think.

“Are you okay?”

The question brings Q out of himself far too soon. There’s a woman standing over him, lips and eyebrows pinched.

“Fine, thank you,” Q says. His voice doesn’t shake nearly as much as his knees do. She reaches for him and Q pulls his arm away. She takes the hint.

“Sorry,” she says, backing off. “You just looked so sad.”

I am, Q thinks. He walks from her without offering a response because he can no longer speak. His tongue twists behind his teeth, ineffectual, useless. His brain runs through the same second on loop. Bonds hands take over his mind.

He can’t sleep that night for the loneliness.

Bond returns from Shanghai with a prisoner in tow, and Q makes up his mind. Even if Bond’s not the right fit--even if he won’t be the one to hold his hand and rub his back and sit with him quietly in the early hours of the morning, just together, nothing more complicated than that--even if he’s not the one, Q wants.

What he wants, even Q isn’t sure.

He tries to pay attention to see if Bond notices him in the slightest, but Q doesn’t know what to look for. He can’t very well stare at Bond, and short of asking someone else to do it for him, Q can’t know what he’s doing most of the time. Q has to pay attention to his computers, to the data that Bond’s brought back.

That’s okay, Q reasons, he can impress Bond, if nothing else. He values intelligence, or so Q hears. (He hasn’t been listening, really. Really.)

He tries, and he succeeds, but then there’s the virus, everything’s shutting down, and Q wants to sink to the floor in agony. Bond’s gone, again, and it’s his fault. He should never have tried.

Miracle of miracles, Bond asks for his help. He needs a trail leading to Scotland, to a specific set of coordinates, something only their escapee can find. Q’s so grateful that he’s not despised, he agrees immediately.

Bond talks to him, ever so briefly. Q can feel his words through the speakers as sure as a caress, and it physically pains him to have the audio gone when Bond ends their contact. Q wonders how long he can do this, how much of a mess he’s made in a few short days.

A big one, the voice at the back of his mind, the one that lists his mistakes when he tries to sleep, tells him. Look at you, look at what you’re doing, going behind the back of authority for a single man.

Q hurts. He tugs the sleeves of his cardigan down over his knuckles and waits for news.

The inquiry that follows the destruction of Skyfall is tedious and painful. No, Q didn’t know he was going to free the late Raoul Silva. Yes, he did specifically aide Bond in his quest to divert the imminent accident. No, yes, no, no, yes.

Mallory believes him, which is one of the only reasons he doesn’t find himself out of a job.

Bond vouches for him as well, which doesn’t help his case so much as it helps Q’s ego.

Bond’s waiting for him down in Q Division, too. Q only sees him when he turns the lights on, his best suit jacket crumpled over one arm. It’s half past four in the morning, and the meetings are only done for the next three hours. All he wants to do is curl up on the floor and hope for the best, but Bond has other plans.

“Nothing to drink,” Bond says when the lights go on. He’s sitting in Q’s chair. “Would have thought you’d have something stashed somewhere.”

“I don’t drink at work,” Q says. It’s mostly true--he had a beer with Tanner before everything went to hell--but he doesn’t feel like elaborating. He walks past Bond, making a careful arc around the chair, to come to sit on the sofa. “I need sleep.”

“Here?”

“Have to be back in a few hours.”

Q curls up on the couch. His eyelids are drooping shut, and he feels sick. He doesn’t know when he ate last. He’s so tired.

“Q.”

Bond’s hand comes to rest heavy on his shoulder. Q flinches, drawing back.

“I”m sorry,” Bond says. “I didn’t mean--”

“It’s fine,” Q lies. It’s not fine. He remembers a line from a story he’d read on the internet, of all things: there is no such thing as casual touch. “It just startled me.”

“You can’t sleep here.”

“I have to, meeting’s in less than three hours.”

Bond sighs. “Where’s your flat?”

“What?”

“Your flat.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to take you home.”

“I already told you--”

“Hush,” Bond orders. Q doesn’t have it in him to argue.

Bond takes him home. It’s a surreal experience, one Q never dreamed of having, but here it is. It’s quarter past five in the morning, and Bond is driving him home. Q might appreciate it more if he could stop nodding off in the passenger seat.

“Almost there,” Bond says once. Q knows, but he appreciates Bond saying it anyway.

Bond helps Q into his flat and through to his bedroom. The cats are both awake, but Q doesn’t have the energy to give them the attention they deserve. He collapses headfirst onto the bed with a groan. Distantly, he’s aware that Bond’s followed him inside. Q rolls to face him.

Even through his exhaustion, he’s embarrassed at the state of the flat. He normally stashes the litter box when company’s coming, and though his kitchen is clean, everything else is in shambles. His life is in shambles.

Bond doesn’t comment on the mess. He dashes off something on his mobile and says, “Sleep, Q.”

“Don’t deserve it,” Q says. He isn’t sure why; it’s not something he would say under normal circumstances, no matter how much he believes it.

“Yes, you do,” Bond insists. “Off with that suit and under the covers.”

By the time Q’s halfway undressed, he’s realized two things. First, Bond’s turned away to give him some degree of modesty. Second, Bond’s not leaving.

“What are you going to do?” Q asks, tugging his shirt off. It lands in a heap on the floor together with trousers that were carefully pressed only this morning. Q doesn’t care one whit about them now. Bond stares at him, and Q quickly adds, “You don’t have a flat anymore.”

“No,” Bond says. “I was going to get a hotel room.”

All in a rush: “You could stay here.”

Bond’s lack of immediate response has Q wishing he’d never opened his mouth at all. He should just thank Bond and go to sleep and let him do whatever he wants, not question him or offer him things he has to then politely decline.

“Sorry,” Q says. “I’m just--”

“Q,” Bond interrupts, “it’s fine. Don’t apologize.” Q looks down at his own knees. It’s cold in his flat, but he feels too awkward to climb under the covers now. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll lock up and take the couch.”

Q can’t bear to look Bond in the face. “You can have the bed. I’ll take the couch.”

“Your flat, your bed.”

“My flat, my guest.”

Bond has the audacity to huff. “Fine. Your guest, your bed, my choice,” he says. “Stay there.”

He disappears into the front room, and Q thinks it’s the end of it. He takes off his glasses, setting them on the side table. He’ll hate himself in the morning--or whenever he wakes--for not cleaning his teeth, but that’s a future-him problem. Right now, Q’s arms and legs feel like pudding and he can’t bear to move any more.

The lights out, Bond returns to the bedroom. He undresses with more care than Q did, folding his belongings neatly and setting them to one side. Stripped to his underclothes, he goes to Q’s bedside. Q halfway thinks he’s going to crawl into bed with him, but Bond merely leans over to stroke Q’s hair.

“Sleep, Quartermaster,” Bond says. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

“Bond?” Q asks, sleepy. He has to know, he has to, but he’s so tired. The feel of Bond’s hand against his skull has all thought abandoning him. He’s aware of the sheets against his skin and the hand on his cheek and nothing, nothing else.

“Ask me in the morning,” Bond says. The hand is gone, and so is Bond.

Q sleeps, alone but not.

There is no such thing as casual touch.

[smokeybrandreviews]

Rotten

If you can’t tell by this blog or the many reviews I write or the entire sub-blog full of my reviews, I genuinely enjoy cinema. I enjoy a good movie. I enjoy a trip to the theater. I have since i was little. All of the pomp and circumstance of it; Getting a terribly overpriced hot dog, standing in line for hours to see the new cape flick or summer blockbuster, laughing with an entire auditorium of cats over the most foolish of turns, and bonding over ridiculous scenes with the stranger next to me - ll of that is just too dope. I love going to the theater. That’s why, when I read that this summer was the worst summer for film since 1999, I was flabbergasted. But it’s true. I’ve been to the theater every weekend this year, with the exception of twice, and no one’s there. No one is coming out to see film anymore. The occasional tent poles like It and anything Marvel drops, packed to the gills, everything else? nah. No one wants that experience and it got me wondering why. This is my analysis of that quandary, as a creator of content but more as a fan, first.

Streaming services are supplying box office quality but you don’t have to put on pants

Like literally every other industry that Millennials are killing, we’re apparently choking the life out of the Hollywood but why Why should we go out and spend 15 dollars on a flick that may or may not be terrible, when we can watch new sh*t on Netflix? Better sh*t on Crackle. Original sh*t all over the place. Netflix has the draw to pull huge stars and their productions are often ridiculously high in quality. Okja was dope. Beasts Of No Nation was an Oscar contender. Will Smith, and his hefty ass paycheck, have a movie coming out for them in December, i believe. And it doesn’t stop there. Netflix dropped A Series Of Unfortunate Events as a series and it KILLED the film. Their Marvel properties are spectacular. Daredevil is sh*tting on the majority of what Hollywood crapped out this year by itself! I had more anticipation for Defenders than I did for probably 90 percent of the theatrical releases in 2017! And don’t get me started on Amazon Prime. Seriously, I saw two films this year that are in my top 20 and neither were released wide, stateside. Raw was f*cking incredible and Lure was just as fantastic. They’re foreign, true, but none of them played anywhere near my home in theaters. Not even in the niche, hipster ass theaters! I had to watch them on Prime! But I got a goddamn 8th Fast sequel, though! Ingrid Goes West is a film I’ve been DYING to see but I can’t because it was only out here for a week and now it’s gone. But Wry tho??

Studios are creatively bankrupt

I get sh*t for watching anime. I love that stuff. Love it. Most people think it’s because I like cartoon tiddies and I do, tiddies are awesome, but that’s not why I enjoy anime. My favorites tend to be creatively vibrant and defiantly unique. They tend to be steeped in originality and that makes for an interesting watch. Neon Genesis Evangelion, Akira, Ghost In The Shell (which I will get to in a minute) are all beautifully animated, poignant stories that really engage the viewer and challenges us to actively think about what we’re watching. The last two films to make me engage like that was Ex Machina and The VVitch. Split, too, to a lesser extent, did that as well. The only film that even remotely accomplished that this year was Get Out and people were up at arms about THAT film being racist! Really? You’re missing the f*cking point! It’s like, cats who have a voice, a story to tell, get the backseat, underfunded or outright ignored but the Hollywood machine but those are the people you need to take a chance on. Those are the directors and creators who you need to develop. Josh Trank made one of the dopest cape films not backed by a major studio in Chronicle and Fox wouldn’t let him do what he needed  to in order to properly craft his for Fan4stic narrative. I don’t think that team is very cinematic to begin with but Trank had a unique vision for that property and if Fox felt uncomfortable with it, they shouldn’t have let him cook to begin with. Marvel took Ant-Man away from Edgar Wright for this specific reason and he rebounded by giving us Baby Driver instead; a brilliant heist film that, at its heart, is just a wonderful love story. Great storytellers tell great stories, if you f*cking let them. The Japanese understand the f*ck out of this concept and let their directors and studio houses run wild. Hollywood does not.

Sequels, adaptions, and reboots! Oh My!

Look, I love a good sequel. They add to the lore and build the world created even further. Sometimes those additions are dope as sh*t. The Dark Knight, Aliens, John Wick: Chapter II, T2: Judgment Day, The Godfather Part 2, Winter Soldier, and Split all come to mind. And, yes, Split. It’s a sequel to Unbreakable. These films were all spectacular and embellished an already rich cinema universe. Hell, even the retread of cape films surprised me. Guardians was amazing, Homecoming is easily my favorite of the year but I am a legit Spider-Man fanboy so take that with a grain of salt, and Logan might be nominated for a f*cking Oscar, it was so good: all are basically sequels, adaptions, and reboots! It’s not hard to make a dope retread, particularly when there’s a story to be told. Sh*t like The Last Knight, though? THAT nonsense was unnecessary. An eighth Fast film? Really? Who wants a third XXX and why? Ghost In The Shell was doomed from the beginning. There’s no way an American audience can digest the content of that, even given to them in the brilliantly repackaging of Ex Machina last year. The Mummy was the worst thing I’d seen all year, bar none! Hollywood has become wildly risk averse and have been banking on stupid f*cking reboots no one asked for to hedge their bets and that sh*t is terrible for the industry. I still got a Flatliners reboot, a sequel to Blade, Runner, and another Star Wars film coming out this year. I’ll go see them but I’m not expecting much.  Hollywood’s current track record with this sh*t is atrocious.

Star System

I went and saw The Mummy because I am a fan or the original and the Brendan Frasier duology. The first two were dope but that third one though? Terrible. Just like this reboot! I don’t care that Tom Cruise is in this film. I don’t even LIKE Tom Cruise as an actor. He hasn’t made a film I’ve actually enjoyed since probably A Few Good Men. I saw the Mission Impossible flicks. They’re okay. I don’t remember anything from them except Cruise gets blown up a lot and Philip Seymour Hoffman was a pretty good villain in one of them. No one has got anything on Jaiver Bardem’s Raoul Silva but that cat was Ledger Joker caliber so, you know, high bar. My point is, this ain’t the 80s. Baby Boomers aren’t going to movie like they used to. No one cares WHO is in a film rather than WHAT the film is about. Ids there a plot? Is it shot creatively? How well is it directed? What’s the goddamn point? Why is this flick even a thing? Pirates had a sequel this year banking on star power and it flopped. GITS didn’t even take a chance and cast ScarJo In the lead role of a character named Motoko Kusanagi, only to cop out and make her a Japanese teenage brain, in her cybernetic Scarlett Johansson “shell”, the whole time. That flick also bombed. I didn’t give a sh*t that Jennifer Lawrence was in Mother!, I went to go see that because the plot seemed f*cked up. I adore the rock but I’m not going to go see Jumanji and I flat out REFUSED to take in Baywatch. Both of those premises are f*cking retard. I didn’t go see John Wick or Atomic Blonde because Keanu and Charlize were in them, I went because they looked dope as f*ck! And they were. And they were also beautiful. And they also told a coherent story. And I bought into those universes. And I want a f*cking crossover! No one goes to the theater anymore because of billing. I don’t give a sh*t about celebrities or that star mentality. F*ck off with that nonsense. Do your jobs and make great sh*t. Yall make enough money for it.

Television is making better sh*t

I touched on this earlier with the whole Series of Unfortunate events thing but it’s not just Netflix sh*tting on Tinseltown, regular ass s TV is doing a pretty good job of it as well. Atlanta is the best goddamn show on television and Man Seeking Woman is easily one of the best adaptions of a book I have ever seen put to film. The first two seasons of Fargo are as good as the film they’re based on, and, even though I haven’t seen the third, I hear it shine just as bright. Hannibal was just and OUTSTANDING interpretation of that Lecter series and I was devastated to see it go. Legion was a better X-Men Film than HALF of their franchise! FX is out here making quality sh*t! Starz ain’t no slouch either with its American Gods and AMC is releasing that firer with Better Call Saul and the excellent Breaking Bad. The Walking Dead petered out after the second season but, I guess it’s still good. I guess. I’m not even going to get into the quality of Westworld or its HBO brethren. Showtits is doing well with Ray Donovan or whatever, too. If I can literally get sh*t of this quality on my big ass, 4K, 7.1 surround sound, home media set up, why the f*ck do I want to go to the theater and drop 15 dollars for f*cking Bayformers 5? A sub-par Apocalypse sequel? A terribly adapted anime devoid of the existential questions driving it’s original?

Sh*t costs too much to make

When you’re dropping upwards of a country’s GDP on a goddamn Car chase movie sequel, you don’t want to take risks. I get that. But that’s the f*cking problem. Films use to have something to say, they use to be art. They use to convey emotion and present an actual plot. Now, most movies are bloated special effect spectacles that think more is better and storytelling is ridiculous. Why did King Arthur need a 175 million dollar budget? You could have make that move for a third of that, tightened up the narrative, and created a better, far more profitable film. NOPE! Why did Transformers 5 get a 125 million dollar budget when market research will tell you each of these sh*tty films has had diminishing returns? Cats have been telling you to drop Michael Bay since the second one and you refused, just to watch your budgets bloat and profits wane. Wonder Woman cost 150 mil, a great deal, yes, but modest for a Cape flick. It’s counterpart, BvS, cost 300 million, literally twice as much. Guess which one is a better film overall? Guess which one was better received? Guess which one SAVED the DCEU? Some of the best films of the year had shoestring budgets, Split was made on 9 million, took in 275. Logan was made on 97 and took in 620. Deadpool was made on 58, looks like it was produced for much more, and brought back 785. Baby Driver dropped for 24 mil and hauled in 220. Why are you throwing 230 million at Pirates  when the first only cost 140 mil and brought back 655. That’s 4 and a half times its budget! Number 5 raked in 795 mil, a little over 2 and a half times its budget. Hell, XXX-3 LOST 70 million! Valerian LOST 70 – 100 million! LOST. The Fifth Element, another Luc Besson film, one that did much better in the box office, one that was directly influenced by the Valerian comics, MADE 263 Million of a 90 mil budget. Why did Valerian NEED so much f*cking money? Why did Transformers or Fats 8 or BvS or Kingsman 2 when John Wick Chapter II, Atomic Blonde, Split, and Logan did MUCH better for a fraction of those investments? Hell, f*cking Get Out, one of the most popular films so far this year, cost 9 million to make. It made 250 million dollars, man! Films don’t need 100, 200, 300 goddamn million dollar budgets to be good! More often than not, that kind of money bodes terrible for the movie, unless you’re Marvel, Disney, or Star Wars. If you’re not part of the Disney Zeitgeist, your ass better keep them sh*t’s around 50- 80 million if you want to make any money from now on.

Rotten Tomatoes is doing its job too well

I love Rotten Tomatoes. The reviews are poignant and they tend to be relatively accurate. I tend to air more toward Critics than I do Audience but that’s because I expect more from film than the average American. Out of my consumable media, period. I hate sh*t that doesn’t have substances. My reviews usually reflect that. I can’t stand Zack Snyder or Michael Bay. All their films are is cool looking sh*t and explosions. Neither one of those assholes can tell a story. I use to really like Ridley Scott, but he’ so far up his own ass right now, I don’t even think he could recognize his own masterpiece, Alien, even if he were to sit and watch it. Rotten Tomatoes does a fantastic job of exposing what’s sh*t and Studios HATE it. Movie executives and stars, alike, have gone on tirades about  how that joint is tanking their films before they even release. No, your movie is sh*t and people don’t want to see sh*t, sir. When BvS got torpedoes, cats claimed Marvel paid reviewers. They didn’t. Then they claimed critics didn’t get it because it was too heady. It wasn’t. Then they said it was for the fans. Yo, if your fans look at BvS and see a masterpiece, they’re drunk. Same goes for Suicide Squad, every Transformers film except for the first, and the majority of Adam Sandler’s library. All Rotten Tomatoes does is let you see that “Thumbs Down” before you pay your cash as opposed to having to wait for a reviews in the paper or a magazine. No one is doing that. By the time Ebert got his two cents in, you had already seen that trash or not. Now, thanks to the intrerwebs and RT, you can get an idea about how sh*t a film might be BEFORE you spend your hard earned cash. Lesson to be learned? Hollywood should stop making sh*ta and RT won’t have to sh*t all over them.

Ultimately, Hollywood needs to evolve and fast. We live in an age where information is at our fingertips. Where we can speak to someone on the other side of the country through facetime or skype. Finding a review of a film is as easy as google. Hell, finding the film, itself, is as easy as a torrent site. Yo want to make money in this new age? Stop patronizing your audience. Make sh*t that is both engaging, accessible, and challenging. It’ not hard. Netflix does that sh*t regularly. FX, too. A24 also has a fantastic track record as a distributor. It’s not hard to make a great film, with a great director, on a modest budget. Stop meddling with your talent and them craft their narrative. If the investment is small, you can just shelve the thing and write it off. Split was one of the best films I’ve seen all year and it was a cheap, beautiful, great, f*cking story that added to an established universe, and gave me one of the most brilliant performances I have ever seen. Make more films like that. Stop making bloated, explosion packed excuses to load a bunch of computer effects on film. Scaling back does wonders for perspective.

In the 60s when the Baby Boomers started coming of age, we got Spielberg, Scorsese, and Coppola. Look what they created. It happened again in the 80s. We got Cameron, Hughes, and Cronenberg. The Nineties gave us Tarantino and the aughts gifted us Edgar Wright and Christopher Nolan. These cats started their careers making small films and grew into the powerhouses that they are today. No one is pocket checking James Cameron or Steven Spielberg. No one is telling Tarantino or Coppola or Scorsese to re-shoot a scene. Why is it okay for Trank or Wright to have their vision torpedoed by a bunch of glorified bean counters? Hollywood’s biggest problem I that it’s become too much of an industry, There’s too much money at stake so risk has gone out the window. But that’s not what movies were supposed to be. We movie goers are called Patrons because we’re supporting artists. Let these artists paint, man. Stop trying to stifle creativity for the almighty dollar. Doing so is just going to make you lose more than if you let an up and coming talent, make the movie they want.

[smokeybrand]

Rotten

If you can’t tell by this blog or the many reviews I write or the entire sub-blog full of my reviews, I genuinely enjoy cinema. I enjoy a good movie. I enjoy a trip to the theater. I have since i was little. All of the pomp and circumstance of it; Getting a terribly overpriced hot dog, standing in line for hours to see the new cape flick or summer blockbuster, laughing with an entire auditorium of cats over the most foolish of turns, and bonding over ridiculous scenes with the stranger next to me - ll of that is just too dope. I love going to the theater. That’s why, when I read that this summer was the worst summer for film since 1999, I was flabbergasted. But it’s true. I’ve been to the theater every weekend this year, with the exception of twice, and no one’s there. No one is coming out to see film anymore. The occasional tent poles like It and anything Marvel drops, packed to the gills, everything else? nah. No one wants that experience and it got me wondering why. This is my analysis of that quandary, as a creator of content but more as a fan, first.

Streaming services are giving supplying box office quality but you don’t have to put on pants

Like literally every other industry that Millennials are killing, we’re apparently choking the life out of the Hollywood but why Why should we go out and spend 15 dollars on a flick that may or may not be terrible, when we can watch new sh*t on Netflix? Better sh*t on Crackle. Original sh*t all over the place. Netflix has the draw to pull huge stars and their productions are often ridiculously high in quality. Okja was dope. Beasts Of No Nation was an Oscar contender. Will Smith, and his hefty ass paycheck, have a movie coming out for them in December, i believe. And it doesn’t stop there. Netflix dropped A Series Of Unfortunate Events as a series and it KILLED the film. Their Marvel properties are spectacular. Daredevil is sh*tting on the majority of what Hollywood crapped out this year by itself! I had more anticipation for Defenders than I did for probably 90 percent of the theatrical releases in 2017! And don’t get me started on Amazon Prime. Seriously, I saw two films this year that are in my top 20 and neither were released wide, stateside. Raw was f*cking incredible and Lure was just as fantastic. They’re foreign, true, but none of them played anywhere near my home in theaters. Not even in the niche, hipster ass theaters! I had to watch them on Prime! But I got a goddamn 8th Fast sequel, though! Ingrid Goes West is a film I’ve been DYING to see but I can’t because it was only out here for a week and now it’s gone. But Wry tho??

Studios are creatively bankrupt

I get sh*t for watching anime. I love that stuff. Love it. Most people think it’s because I like cartoon tiddies and I do, tiddies are awesome, but that’s not why I enjoy anime. My favorites tend to be creatively vibrant and defiantly unique. They tend to be steeped in originality and that makes for an interesting watch. Neon Genesis Evangelion, Akira, Ghost In The Shell (which I will get to in a minute) are all beautifully animated, poignant stories that really engage the viewer and challenges us to actively think about what we’re watching. The last two films to make me engage like that was Ex Machina and The VVitch. Split, too, to a lesser extent, did that as well. The only film that even remotely accomplished that this year was Get Out and people were up at arms about THAT film being racist! Really? You’re missing the f*cking point! It’s like, cats who have a voice, a story to tell, get the backseat, underfunded or outright ignored but the Hollywood machine but those are the people you need to take a chance on. Those are the directors and creators who you need to develop. Josh Trank made one of the dopest cape films not backed by a major studio in Chronicle and Fox wouldn’t let him do what he needed  to in order to properly craft his for Fan4stic narrative. I don’t think that team is very cinematic to begin with but Trank had a unique vision for that property and if Fox felt uncomfortable with it, they shouldn’t have let him cook to begin with. Marvel took Ant-Man away from Edgar Wright for this specific reason and he rebounded by giving us Baby Driver instead; a brilliant heist film that, at its heart, is just a wonderful love story. Great storytellers tell great stories, if you f*cking let them. The Japanese understand the f*ck out of this concept and let their directors and studio houses run wild. Hollywood does not.

Sequels, adaptions, and reboots! Oh My!

Look, I love a good sequel. They add to the lore and build the world created even further. Sometimes those additions are dope as sh*t. The Dark Knight, Aliens, John Wick: Chapter II, T2: Judgment Day, The Godfather Part 2, Winter Soldier, and Split all come to mind. And, yes, Split. It’s a sequel to Unbreakable. These films were all spectacular and embellished an already rich cinema universe. Hell, even the retread of cape films surprised me. Guardians was amazing, Homecoming is easily my favorite of the year but I am a legit Spider-Man fanboy so take that with a grain of salt, and Logan might be nominated for a f*cking Oscar, it was so good: all are basically sequels, adaptions, and reboots! It’s not hard to make a dope retread, particularly when there’s a story to be told. Sh*t like The Last Knight, though? THAT nonsense was unnecessary. An eighth Fast film? Really? Who wants a third XXX and why? Ghost In The Shell was doomed from the beginning. There’s no way an American audience can digest the content of that, even given to them in the brilliantly repackaging of Ex Machina last year. The Mummy was the worst thing I’d seen all year, bar none! Hollywood has become wildly risk averse and have been banking on stupid f*cking reboots no one asked for to hedge their bets and that sh*t is terrible for the industry. I still got a Flatliners reboot, a sequel to Blade, Runner, and another Star Wars film coming out this year. I’ll go see them but I’m not expecting much.  Hollywood’s current track record with this sh*t is atrocious.

Star System

I went and saw The Mummy because I am a fan or the original and the Brendan Frasier duology. The first two were dope but that third one though? Terrible. Just like this reboot! I don’t care that Tom Cruise is in this film. I don’t even LIKE Tom Cruise as an actor. He hasn’t made a film I’ve actually enjoyed since probably A Few Good Men. I saw the Mission Impossible flicks. They’re okay. I don’t remember anything from them except Cruise gets blown up a lot and Philip Seymour Hoffman was a pretty good villain in one of them. No one has got anything on Jaiver Bardem’s Raoul Silva but that cat was Ledger Joker caliber so, you know, high bar. My point is, this ain’t the 80s. Baby Boomers aren’t going to movie like they used to. No one cares WHO is in a film rather than WHAT the film is about. Ids there a plot? Is it shot creatively? How well is it directed? What’s the goddamn point? Why is this flick even a thing? Pirates had a sequel this year banking on star power and it flopped. GITS didn’t even take a chance and cast ScarJo In the lead role of a character named Motoko Kusanagi, only to cop out and make her a Japanese teenage brain, in her cybernetic Scarlett Johansson “shell”, the whole time. That flick also bombed. I didn’t give a sh*t that Jennifer Lawrence was in Mother!, I went to go see that because the plot seemed f*cked up. I adore the rock but I’m not going to go see Jumanji and I flat out REFUSED to take in Baywatch. Both of those premises are f*cking retard. I didn’t go see John Wick or Atomic Blonde because Keanu and Charlize were in them, I went because they looked dope as f*ck! And they were. And they were also beautiful. And they also told a coherent story. And I bought into those universes. And I want a f*cking crossover! No one goes to the theater anymore because of billing. I don’t give a sh*t about celebrities or that star mentality. F*ck off with that nonsense. Do your jobs and make great sh*t. Yall make enough money for it.

Television is making better sh*t

I touched on this earlier with the whole Series of Unfortunate events thing but it’s not just Netflix sh*tting on Tinseltown, regular ass s TV is doing a pretty good job of it as well. Atlanta is the best goddamn show on television and Man Seeking Woman is easily one of the best adaptions of a book I have ever seen put to film. The first two seasons of Fargo are as good as the film they’re based on, and, even though I haven’t seen the third, I hear it shine just as bright. Hannibal was just and OUTSTANDING interpretation of that Lecter series and I was devastated to see it go. Legion was a better X-Men Film than HALF of their franchise! FX is out here making quality sh*t! Starz ain’t no slouch either with its American Gods and AMC is releasing that firer with Better Call Saul and the excellent Breaking Bad. The Walking Dead petered out after the second season but, I guess it’s still good. I guess. I’m not even going to get into the quality of Westworld or its HBO brethren. Showtits is doing well with Ray Donovan or whatever, too. If I can literally get sh*t of this quality on my big ass, 4K, 7.1 surround sound, home media set up, why the f*ck do I want to go to the theater and drop 15 dollars for f*cking Bayformers 5? A sub-par Apocalypse sequel? A terribly adapted anime devoid of the existential questions driving it’s original?

Sh*t costs too much to make

When you’re dropping upwards of a country’s GDP on a goddamn Car chase movie sequel, you don’t want to take risks. I get that. But that’s the f*cking problem. Films use to have something to say, they use to be art. They use to convey emotion and present an actual plot. Now, most movies are bloated special effect spectacles that think more is better and storytelling is ridiculous. Why did King Arthur need a 175 million dollar budget? You could have make that move for a third of that, tightened up the narrative, and created a better, far more profitable film. NOPE! Why did Transformers 5 get a 125 million dollar budget when market research will tell you each of these sh*tty films has had diminishing returns? Cats have been telling you to drop Michael Bay since the second one and you refused, just to watch your budgets bloat and profits wane. Wonder Woman cost 150 mil, a great deal, yes, but modest for a Cape flick. It’s counterpart, BvS, cost 300 million, literally twice as much. Guess which one is a better film overall? Guess which one was better received? Guess which one SAVED the DCEU? Some of the best films of the year had shoestring budgets, Split was made on 9 million, took in 275. Logan was made on 97 and took in 620. Deadpool was made on 58, looks like it was produced for much more, and brought back 785. Baby Driver dropped for 24 mil and hauled in 220. Why are you throwing 230 million at Pirates  when the first only cost 140 mil and brought back 655. That’s 4 and a half times its budget! Number 5 raked in 795 mil, a little over 2 and a half times its budget. Hell, XXX-3 LOST 70 million! Valerian LOST 70 – 100 million! LOST. The Fifth Element, another Luc Besson film, one that did much better in the box office, one that was directly influenced by the Valerian comics, MADE 263 Million of a 90 mil budget. Why did Valerian NEED so much f*cking money? Why did Transformers or Fats 8 or BvS or Kingsman 2 when John Wick Chapter II, Atomic Blonde, Split, and Logan did MUCH better for a fraction of those investments? Hell, f*cking Get Out, one of the most popular films so far this year, cost 9 million to make. It made 250 million dollars, man! Films don’t need 100, 200, 300 goddamn million dollar budgets to be good! More often than not, that kind of money bodes terrible for the movie, unless you’re Marvel, Disney, or Star Wars. If you’re not part of the Disney Zeitgeist, your ass better keep them sh*t’s around 50- 80 million if you want to make any money from now on.

Rotten Tomatoes is doing its job too well

I love Rotten Tomatoes. The reviews are poignant and they tend to be relatively accurate. I tend to air more toward Critics than I do Audience but that’s because I expect more from film than the average American. Out of my consumable media, period. I hate sh*t that doesn’t have substances. My reviews usually reflect that. I can’t stand Zack Snyder or Michael Bay. All their films are is cool looking sh*t and explosions. Neither one of those assholes can tell a story. I use to really like Ridley Scott, but he’ so far up his own ass right now, I don’t even think he could recognize his own masterpiece, Alien, even if he were to sit and watch it. Rotten Tomatoes does a fantastic job of exposing what’s sh*t and Studios HATE it. Movie executives and stars, alike, have gone on tirades about  how that joint is tanking their films before they even release. No, your movie is sh*t and people don’t want to see sh*t, sir. When BvS got torpedoes, cats claimed Marvel paid reviewers. They didn’t. Then they claimed critics didn’t get it because it was too heady. It wasn’t. Then they said it was for the fans. Yo, if your fans look at BvS and see a masterpiece, they’re drunk. Same goes for Suicide Squad, every Transformers film except for the first, and the majority of Adam Sandler’s library. All Rotten Tomatoes does is let you see that “Thumbs Down” before you pay your cash as opposed to having to wait for a reviews in the paper or a magazine. No one is doing that. By the time Ebert got his two cents in, you had already seen that trash or not. Now, thanks to the intrerwebs and RT, you can get an idea about how sh*t a film might be BEFORE you spend your hard earned cash. Lesson to be learned? Hollywood should stop making sh*ta and RT won’t have to sh*t all over them.

Ultimately, Hollywood needs to evolve and fast. We live in an age where information is at our fingertips. Where we can speak to someone on the other side of the country through facetime or skype. Finding a review of a film is as easy as google. Hell, finding the film, itself, is as easy as a torrent site. Yo want to make money in this new age? Stop patronizing your audience. Make sh*t that is both engaging, accessible, and challenging. It’ not hard. Netflix does that sh*t regularly. FX, too. A24 also has a fantastic track record as a distributor. It’s not hard to make a great film, with a great director, on a modest budget. Stop meddling with your talent and them craft their narrative. If the investment is small, you can just shelve the thing and write it off. Split was one of the best films I’ve seen all year and it was a cheap, beautiful, great, f*cking story that added to an established universe, and gave me one of the most brilliant performances I have ever seen. Make more films like that. Stop making bloated, explosion packed excuses to load a bunch of computer effects on film. Scaling back does wonders for perspective.

In the 60s when the Baby Boomers started coming of age, we got Spielberg, Scorsese, and Coppola. Look what they created. It happened again in the 80s. We got Cameron, Hughes, and Cronenberg. The Nineties gave us Tarantino and the aughts gifted us Edgar Wright and Christopher Nolan. These cats started their careers making small films and grew into the powerhouses that they are today. No one is pocket checking James Cameron or Steven Spielberg. No one is telling Tarantino or Coppola or Scorsese to re-shoot a scene. Why is it okay for Trank or Wright to have their vision torpedoed by a bunch of glorified bean counters? Hollywood’s biggest problem I that it’s become too much of an industry, There’s too much money at stake so risk has gone out the window. But that’s not what movies were supposed to be. We movie goers are called Patrons because we’re supporting artists. Let these artists paint, man. Stop trying to stifle creativity for the almighty dollar. Doing so is just going to make you lose more than if you let an up and coming talent, make the movie they want.

[sunaddicted]

The Office (00q)

This is my fill for Prompt 35 of the Anonymous Prompt Exchange: nonnie, I hope you liked it because I had a blast writing it <3 

The Office

“There must be a mistake” James whispered, fingers tentatively caressing the sleek surface of M’s metallic desk -  his desk. But how could that be possible? He was an agent and a damned good one at that - especially if one closed both eyes when presented with his equipment destruction records - and his talent lay in brutal strength and an uncanny ability to escape Death’s clutches.

  Resurrect from Hell, even.  

Sucking up to higher ups and filling in endless piles of paperwork had never been in the picture; even if James would have managed to survive until retirement - an admittedly higher possibility since the new Q had started handling his missions - the only alternative career in MI6 that he had envisioned for himself, it had been training the greener agents.  

James Bond, the infamous 007 with a penchant for making embassies explode and falling in bed with the wrong women, would never be a pencil pusher.   Never .  

“Believe me, I checked the email three times and hacked into the higher ups’ computers to make sure that a virus didn’t send it out” Q answered and, judging by his expression, he didn’t seem to be particularly persuaded by the new development either “There’s no mistake: you’re the new M - if you’re taking the job, of course”

“But..” James couldn’t remember a time in his life when he’d been so speechless; even when Raoul Silva had tied him to a chair and made some frankly disturbing insinuations, he’d had a cheeky answer ready on the tip of his tongue “Why not Mallory?” He inquired  in rhe and, despair clear in his voice.

“The higher ups wanted someone with extensive field expertise to cover the position and, while Mallory has been an agent in his youth, he doesn’t quite have your experience” Q explained, almost as if trying to convince himself of the words he was saying “The PM specifically said that in his opinion, some mistakes could have been avoided with an experienced agent at the lead of the agency”

“Then why can’t I.. I don’t know, monitor missions when I’m not in the field”

Q arched an eyebrow “I thought it was pretty clear that you’re being retired from active duty?”

James loathed it when the younger man used that snooty and posh voice with him, it made his hands prickle with the need of bending the brat over and show him why exactly he should have had more respect for his elders “I’m only 42” He pointed out.

“And you’ve failed your last Medical check-up, Bond” Q retorted, one hand slamming down on the desk; sometimes, the Double-Ohs’ stubborn streaks drove him mad and Q realised that maybe he was a little too attached to his agents - that he cared too much about a handful of people who risked their lives on a daily basis “This is the last shot MI6 is giving you; your body is not at its best anymore and Psych isn’t going to clear you for active duty either after what happened at Skyfall” on the last word, Q’s voice had thinned to a barely there whisper: no matter what Eve and James himself said, he felt guilty about most of what happened and blamed himself everyday for being so overconfident and naive when battling against someone as Raoul Silva “They have already stripped you of your Double-Oh status”

Stripped of his status . After decades of sacrifices for Queen and Country, just like that, the higher ups had taken away from him the title that he’d earned himself after two killings, while they played mind games and drank tea in their ridiculously decorated offices. Anger boiled in his stomach, an ugly and heavy ball of resentment that roiled and he had to fight to keep down “This is ridiculous” He hissed, turning away from Q -  don’t shoot the messenger , James had to remind himself; after all, none of what was happening was Q’s fault “I don’t know how to do this job”

Q sighed and sat down, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose so that he could rub at his tired eyes; in the past weeks, he’d been working hard and long hours to somehow make a sense of the whole Skyfall disaster - his first real mission as a Quartermaster and it had gone worse than pear-shaped “I didn’t know how to do my job either” Sure, he had been the best minion in Q-Branch but he didn’t have a clue about how to work in a team and direct people so that they would seamlessly work towards the same goal. It had been hard and frustrating, more than once he he had been tempted to go to M’s office and plead her to find a substitute: he’d longed to go back to his comfortable anonymity.

“But you’re still doing what you’re good at” James spat out, shoulders tensing under the sharp cut of his baby-blue suit.

“Sometimes? Yes” Q nodded “But mostly I deal with paperwork and bullshit politics more time than I actually spend coding; my worries aren’t anymore about whether the project I’m working on will be approved, now I worry about whether the project I’m approving is affordable and as safe as possible for people to use; instead of working alone on an assignment, I have to lead a team. I could go on making examples to show you that I’m not actually doing the job I applied for once out of uni anymore”

James turned around, arms crossed over his chest “Why did you stay, then?”

Q shrugged “I don’t know exactly. I suppose I care more about the lives I can save, rather than staying in my corner and coding the day away”

It made sense, in a way; James could appreciate the younger man’s sense of duty, his desire to protect and serve their country in any way he could. It also made him feel a little ashamed about the fact that he was protesting so much and kicking up such a fuss when he was clearly needed - but it was so difficult to accept the idea of going from a field job to a desk one; James knew himself and he was quite aware of the restlessness that licked up his spine whenever downtime between missions lasted too long “Are you sure that there’s no way to get out of this?”

“Without being booted out of MI6? Yeah, I’m pretty sure” Q answered earnestly; they hadn’t known each other for very long - barely a year - but their working relationship had been fundamentally built on honesty, which had led to a reciprocal trust that Q cherished quite a lot. He wasn’t going to start lying now and ruin months worth of collaboration - especially if James ended up accepting the post and became, to all effect, his superior-  just to be merciful and fill the other man’s head with false hopes.

“You’re smiling like a loon” James pointed out as he cocked his head to the side to curiously study the other’s face, focusing on Q to momentarily ignore the despair that was filling him.

Q grinned “I just realised that I’m not going to be your superior anymore”

James huffed to cover up a chuckle “Has anyone ever told you how much of an oddball you are?”

“Amongst other people here and there, you have - every single day” Q winked cheekily “I’m rather proud of that”

“Of course you are” the older man rolled his eyes and let himself fall in the other guest chair, falling silent behind the colleague he thought the most as an actual friend. If there was an amazing thing about Q, it was the fact that he wasn’t one of those people who felt the need to fill silence with useless chit chat; he usually whipped out his mobile and tinkered with it or quietly sipped at his tea, while James did his thinking in peace.

“Do you think I can do it?” He asked. James was honestly surprised by the insecurity in his own tone of voice: he’d never felt less than secure in his footing in MI6, it was a disquieting feeling realising that he didn’t feel certain about his position in the agency anymore.  

“With some help to get used to the bureaucratic part of the job, yes - I think you’d make a very good M”

James was curious to know about the reason why Q thought that of him, but he didn’t ask and figured he would do so later when he’d inevitably feel inadequate to fill in the former M’s shoes and could use a boost to his ego. In the end, James just picked the lock of the cabinet in which he knew Olivia Mansfield had kept the good scotch and poured them both a healthy dose “Thank you”

“You’re welcome” Q clinked their glasses together “You can always trust me to tell you when you’re being a dickhead”