#not quite 00q but close

[seiya-starsniper]

20 questions for fic writers!

TRIPLE TAG THREAT from my faves @arialerendeair @bazzybelle and @honeyteacakes, I love you guys so so so much!!!!! 💖💖💖

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

I have 36 in total published, a whole bunch more in drafts!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

167,076 which is crazy when you consider 146,736 are just from THIS YEAR

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The Sandman, currently! I have a couple of WIPs for other fandoms but I just haven't gotten around to them.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Dreams for a Dozen Cats - 527 kudos A Dream for a Viscount - 513 kudos and if I get burned, at least we were electrified - 504 kudos Wake Up & Smell The Flowers - 457 kudos Let's conspire to ignite - 397 kudos

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do! I've been bad about it lately, but I love responding because I absolutely adore the dynamic of being able to communicate with my readers. It's just a tiring exercise and I have to be really in the mood to do it! But I absolutely love and adore every comment I receive 💖💖💖

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

A sweet dream - it's the only one where I've used the tag Main Character Death! The ending is quite hopeful, but the death is in fact permanent, take care if you choose to read it!

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Hnnnnnnngh I have absolutely no fucking idea because they almost all have really happy endings! That's like asking me to pick a favorite child. Honestly though, if you want sappy and sexy romance throughout an entire fic with literally zero conflict, then my happiest ending is probably A Dream for a Viscount. If you want ANGST ANGST ANGST with a massive payoff and a lot of hurt/comfort leading up to a soft ending, my happiest ending is the one in and if I get burned, at least we were electrified

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not on AO3! In my ff.net days though, whew lordy the salt was strong whenever I wrote somebody's NOTP and dared to publish it. Those were some interesting days.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Well, seeing as I am a mod for @monsterfucktoberbingo....I think you can probably guess what type of smut I write LMAO. I do write quite a bit of omegaverse too just to spice things up 😄

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I have! Back in my ff.net days, my teenage self LIVED on the high school fandom crossover fic. I shall never return to those days ever again, but I had a good time. I also recently wrote this Dreamling/SnowBaz crossover for my beloved @bazzybelle💖💖💖

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge! I never really participated in fandoms where fic stealing was common thankfully.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have! I have absolutely no idea what site it ended up on, but I've had my fics translated into Russian and Chinese.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not in a really long time! When I was a teen, I used to RP characters with my friends as a writing exercise, and then that would turn into a fic! I also absolutely LOVED the round robin fic culture back in the old livejournal days. (can you tell I'm dating myself heavily lmao)

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

00Q hands down. I'm still reading old favorites to this day. Although, I will admit Dreamling is a pretty damn close second considering *gestures vaguely(

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Oh lord, I have quite a few, published and unpublished. Most of my published unfinished WIPs are just rotting on ff.net and I've made my peace with them. Unpublished WIPs...I have quite a few SamBucky fics that never made it out of drafts and I'm really sad about that because I really loved that ship at one point :(

16. What are your writing strengths?

I have a few I'm pretty proud of: - Succinctness: I can tell a whole story in under 10k words. One-shots are my bread and butter. - Angst: Do you want to cry? I'll make you cry and wring your soul out with no regrets. - Fluff: On the opposite end of the spectrum, if you want to feel soft and like you're snuggling with a cloud, I can do that for you too. Fluff is such a delight to write, because I like to feel good, and I love making others feel good too 💖 - Dialogue: I love writing dialogue. It's such a delight to try and figure what a character would say when placed in ~situations~

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Whew lordy, here we goooooooooooo: - Longfic/Multichapter fics: I can and have written longer fics, but it's highly demotivating for me. I am struggling so hard to finish my multi-chapter fics right now, it's a nightmare. I'll get there, but... - Descriptions: I AM SO BAD AT MAKING SETTINGS AND DESCRIBING HOW PEOPLE LOOK. I'm sure some people will disagree with me, but I some days I truly hate my inability to describe things the way I want to, or the way I've seen other people be able to. It is a thing I am working on, for sure, I know it's just a matter of practice. - WIP hell: I start and stop things at the drop of a hat. Rest in pieces to all my ideas stuck in partially written states - Plot Summaries: I can write a whole thing and be utterly unable to give you a plot summary. Save me hahahahaha

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I LOVE IT. It's not for me since I only speak English, but I love coming across it in fic.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Yu-Gi-Oh!

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

...heh. I thought this was gonna be harder but it's definitely and if I get burned, at least we were electrified. This fic dragged me out of lurking in fandom to full on writing and participating again. It's my most canon-adjacent fic. It's got angst and action and feelings. It has tentacle sex. It has the Corinthian being indulged within an inch of his life. This fic is a love letter to myself, it the reason I am here, in sandman fandom, writing as much as I am. Is it my best written story out of all my fics? No, it was my first fic after a long writing hiatus and while I consider it a well written piece, I also like to think my writing quality has increased since I first wrote it. But it is my favorite fic, for all the reasons above, and for the sheer joy it brought into my life then, and in the subsequent months after.

Tagging: @valiantstarlights @five-and-dimes @chaosheadspace @ironwoman359 @silver-dream89 @rosaren2498 @bruce-wayne-simp @acedragontype and whoever else wants to do it!

[themerc]

Fic Author self rec meme

thanks @anyawen for always tagging me <3 Idk who's been tagged already but let's try some of my faves, @mr-iskender @samanthahirr @boffin1710 @kitten-kin @aniron48 if any of you feel like it, would be interesting to see which ones of your works you'd pick as your favourites. I have relatively few works posted so far so I'm only going to rec three that are special somehow. To Tell The Good From Bad, Villains From Heroes Mission fic, 18 chapters, my entry for the 00Q RBB 2021. By far the longest and plottiest fic I've written so far, a NTTD fix-it of sorts, written before the movie even came out. Tenacity Another NTTD inspired piece that doesn't really fix anything, but Bond lives, if only because Q won't let him die. This fic is my personal favourite but also the outlet of all the pain that NTTD caused me, and fairly graphic. You've been warned.

The Best Proof Of Love A crossover with London Spy. WIP but fully plotted and outlined. A close collaboration with Anyawen and I believe, thanks to her, the very best I can produce - even though the reception hasn't quite been what I'd hoped for. It has also been dreadfully difficult to write at times. Still, it remains my feel-good story because I've enjoyed working on it very much and I just love the complicated relationships between all the main characters.

[aniron48]

Love Letters - Day 7

Welcome to Day 7 of Love Letters, a 00q choose your own adventure! We are in the final stretch now--there will be one more poll tomorrow night, and then we'll wrap on Tuesday, 2/14 around 9:15ish EST.

If you're joining for the first time, you can catch up here: Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6

And if you've been voting with us all along, finally--finally--you've unlocked Eve Moneypenny! Well done, chaos muppets. Day 7 starts below the cut. 💜

He didn’t know what had brought Moneypenny to Bath, but it was imperative that he follow her and find out.

Bond waited in the shadow of a newsstand, pretending to look at magazines, until Moneypenny came out of the patisserie, carrying a small pink box wrapped in twine. After a moment, he began to follow, taking care to stay out of her line of sight. This close to the river, the February air had a wet chill to it that made Bond grateful for the scarf he’d brought with him from London. He wrapped it closer around his neck, taking care to arrange it so that it would further obscure his face from view if Moneypenny turned around.

He followed her south for awhile, and then west, toward the Pulteney Bridge. As Bond dodged patrons coming out of a coffee shop, Moneypenny suddenly turned down an alley behind one of the shops.

Bond picked up his pace, trying not to lose her. When he turned the corner, he found Moneypenny aiming a gun at him. Again.

“Once wasn’t enough, Moneypenny?”

“Jesus, Bond,” Moneypenny said, lowering her weapon. “You might want to consider redoing your surveillance training. I realized I had a tail three whole blocks ago. What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I might ask you the same thing.”

“I’m meeting someone.”

“Meeting whom, exactly? Did Mallory send you?”

“There you are, Eve,” said a voice from behind them. “Have you seen—“ Tanner stopped in his tracks. “Oh. Bond.”

“All right, what’s going on?”

Tanner opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Moneypenny grabbed him by the hand. “Fine. You’ve caught us. We’re having a bit of a lover’s holiday.”

Tanner looked from Moneypenny’s face to their joined hands and back again before saying, “Yes. A lover’s holiday.”

“I thought you were seeing that redhead in accounting. Brenna something.” Bond said.

“Yes, well, that’s why we’re sneaking around in Bath. Tanner hasn’t broken it off yet. Poor thing, she’s going to be devastated when she finds out.”

“Oh my god,” Tanner said faintly.

“But people bounce back. Brenda will bounce back, Tanner.”

“It’s Brenna.”

“Anyway, Bond, I don’t think you ever told us while you were here.” Moneypenny folded her arms.

Bond folded his arms back at her. “I’m here to buy Q a Valentine’s Day present. He’s been on about Bath since he watched Persuasion with you.”

“So you’re here to buy him—what, exactly?”

Bond reached for the first thing that came to mind. “A snow globe, if you must know. Of the city.”

“That’s surprisingly sweet. Let’s see it.”

“I haven’t bought it yet. I’m still looking.”

“Luckily for you, there’s a souvenir shop just around the corner,” Moneypenny said breezily. “Shall we go together?”

Twenty minutes later found Bond driving back to London with an extortionately-priced snow globe featuring a replica of the Bath Circus, and Tanner and Moneypenny crammed into the passenger seat of the DB8.

“We really could have taken the train back, Bond,” Tanner said.

“Really,” Moneypenny added, turning away to tap out a message on her mobile, accidentally elbowing Tanner in the stomach as she did so.

“Nonsense,” said Bond. “I insist. This will be much quicker. I know it’s a squeeze, but you lovebirds don’t mind a bit of a cuddle, do you?”

“Not at all,” Moneypenny said, smiling in a way that suggested she’d quite like to cut his brake lines.

“Unless there’s a reason you wanted to take the train, of course. If there is, just let me know, and I can drive you back to the station.”

“Well—“ Tanner began.

“No, no reason,” Moneypenny said. “I’m sure we’ll all enjoy the drive.”

“I know I will,” said Bond. He pulled up the music app on his phone, searched for the album entitled “Scotland: Bagpipe Classics,” and hit play.

Back in London, he dropped Tanner and Moneypenny in front of her building. Before they could walk away, however, Bond rolled down the driver’s side window. 

“Moneypenny,” he called after her. “Why were you and Tanner really in Bath?”

She walked back to the car and bent down to look in the window. “You first. I want the truth, Bond. Were you really there for Q?”

“Yes, I was. I can promise you that.”

She studied him for a minute, before saying, “Then let’s just say we have a mutual interest.”

She turned and walked away, lifting a hand in farewell.

Two days later, Bond received a package in the mail. It was a small, narrow box wrapped in brown paper, addressed to Bond in Q’s unmistakeable handwriting, and bearing a postmark from Bath.

Inside the box was an elegant fountain pen, the same cloudy-grey color as the Aston Martin, with the initials ‘JHB’ engraved on it in a looping monogram.

It couldn’t be.

Bond examined the pen from every angle, taking care not to drop or shake it, even though surely Q wouldn’t have sent the pen through the Royal Mail if it contained explosives.

At least, Bond didn’t think. 

He ran his fingers over the pen one more time, feeling for a catch or a hidden button, but aside from its beauty, the pen appeared to be unremarkable. Unless—yes. There it was.

There's no way I'd let you accidentally blow up Bond right before the end of this choose your own adventure, right? *OR WOULD I...???* 😁

[catgirl-yeji]

this shapeshifting vessel is a lie

hi and welcome to my corner of the internet. this blog is still under construction until I can add my about page ( did you know that you have to personally ask support to be allowed to use a page code with javascript in it? :)) well, you do now ) so beware of the construction tape!

I'm Autumn or Faon, I use they/them pronouns and I was born '95. ticked about all the boxes on the queer registration form and I'm currently in a queerplatonic relationship. central european & white. future linguistics & politics student, and plant parent. I really adore vampires and I write original and fan fiction, as well as poetry. I speak german and english, and I'm studying french, korean, japanese and finnish. lover of bats, snakes, horsies, deer and cats, as well as sharks. 🦈 I sometimes draw cat ears or fangs onto idols and actors ( see: my icon ), if you'd like me to make you an icon, drop me a DM.

my hyperfixations and interests change over time — yes, it was a phase, mom! name a constant state of being, mom! — and I change my username every two or so years. currently I'm really into the quantum leap spin-off, the motherland: fort salem show, and I'm watching a couple of k-dramas and such at the side. I play baldur's gate 3, stardew valley and control, but also 2064: read only memories.

I was very active in the shadowhunters and the dragon age fandom as well an 00q shipper. I will reblog every single gif of spirit - stallion of the cimarron, it's my childhood movie;; also, Jin Oshiro from STRAY (2019) deserved better, thank you for your attention.

you may know me as leafmiilk, taehdenveri, fliederfuchs or thetevinterelf — and most recently @catboy-jaebeom ! 🌺

tumblr veteran and survivor of the mishapocalypse. I've been renting this space ( occupying, maybe, rather? skjsdlkgs it's not like I pay rent ) since 2012, and trust me when I say: this website is a hellsite, but it's our hellsite, so, I'll stay until the last person switches off the lights, probably. >< a lot of other social media networks just never grew on me quite like tumblr.

I have two sideblogs worth noting: @splittergheist, my writing blog where I post short stories and poems irregularly, and my secret and private miscecanis / omegaverse blog ( a lot more interested in the world-building, concept and lifestyle than the smut, but no hate! ) that I may give out if you ask nicely and privately. also, if you're interested in some tumblr rp, you can message me as well, I have an OC blog for that. 🐰

that said, I tag my posts extensively, so if you need me to tag something, you can shoot me an ask and I'll try to tag specific things for you! please be nice in my inbox or I'll simply delete your ask and block you. 💛 oftentimes I'll message you privately when you send me an ask that doesn't seem like it should be answered publicly ( unless you've sent it on anon ofc ) and while I do answer tag games, I'm too anxious to tag ppl myself unless we're like super close, sorry ><

I track #faon.tagged. if you make ( especially kpop ) content you think I'd like ( itzy, got7, nct & wayv but especially ten, xiaojun and yuta, red velvet, shinee, svt but especially joshua, mingyu and dk, skz but especially hyujin and felix, but also others! ) you can use this tag, I'm always happy to reblog pretty gifs and support you guys, you're the backbone of our and any community.

relevant kpop stuff can be found under the cut, as well as some 'reviews' my lovely mutuals wrote for me ( if you like to leave a review, hit me up in my DMs! ) thank u, ily 💚🌼

and thank you everyone else for reading this, may your days be bright, I think we could all use that at the moment;; I'd super love new ppl to talk to ( pls have your age or an approximate in your bio! while I'm fine with talking to minors, I'd like to know beforehand if I do ), so message me!!

kpop stuff

ult group: got7

other groups I like: nct 127, itzy, wayv, shinee, red velvet, seventeen, oneus, ...

soloists I adore: xia / kim junsu, taemin, ...

biases: lim jaebeom & choi youngjae; nakamoto yuta & xiaojun; kang seulgi; hwang yeji & lee chaeryeong; joshua hong & lee seokmin; choi minho & lee taemin; kim leedo & lee seoho; park seonghwa & jeong yunho; kanemoto yoshi; ...

wreckers: mark tuan & kim yugyeom; ten lee; kim mingyu & lee woozi; kang yeosang & song mingi; shin ryujin; ...

for as long as xitter still exists, I can be found under jaebueomgi.

blog reviews

@meant-to-be-a-hero wrote on november 22nd:

Shall I compare Autumn's blog to a summer's day? I shall not, because I am not a hack. Equal parts language jokes, kpop boys (and girls, but I don't look at those) and #bitter millennial blogging, there's something for everyone here at Autumn's blog. They are also one of the few people who still write funky things in the tags, a true dying breed on Tumblr. I feel like I'm reviewing a restaurant or something. Either way, click follow, thank me later, because you will. It's a good blog, Bront.

— ★★★★★(★★) [ 7 out of 5 ]

@klutenpetter wrote on november 22nd:

It seems I have misplaced the URL of the blog in question that I was supposed to review.

— ★★★★★ [ 5 out of 5 ]

[cicerfics]

#ummm#anyone else in the bond thinking what i’m thinking??#bond: so you see q when the komodo dragon grabbed my walther ppk in its mouth no one else COULD have used it afterwards#q: with raised eyebrows#pause pause#q: bond you’re telling me the very large lizard “grabbed your gun” from you? are you sure that’s what happened?#q: is there perhaps ANY chance you THREW it at the large lizard?!#pause#bond: q the most important thing at the time was to get away alive. if i needed to use my gun to distract a real life dragon from eating me#then that’s what i had to do#bond: have you ever seen a komodo dragon up close? they’re quite terrifying. and now i know they’re truly dangerous#q: mutters to self#00q (via @foxsoulcourt)

Komodo dragons have iron-tipped teeth, new study shows

Komodo dragons, the world’s largest species of lizard, have iron-tipped teeth that help them to rip their prey apart, according to new research. The metal is concentrated in the cutting edge and tips of their curved, serrated teeth, staining them orange, scientists wrote in a paper published Wednesday in the journal Nature Ecology & Evolution. Komodo dragons are native to Indonesia and weigh around 80 kilograms (176 pounds) on average. They eat almost any kind of meat and are known as deadly predators...

Read more: https://www.cnn.com/2024/07/24/science/komodo-dragons-iron-teeth-scli-intl/index.html

[foxsoulcourt]

Chapters: 11/? Fandom: James Bond (Craig Movies), James Bond (Movies) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: James Bond, Q (James Bond) Additional Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, James Bond Needs a Hug, Q finds Bond's hiding place Summary:

After a bad mission, Bond disappears to lick his wounds. Unsettled, Q tracks him down and shows up uninvited. Now that his normal self-destructive coping mechanisms have been disrupted, how will Bond handle things?

Bookmarker's Notes:

Double Ohs are capable of doing so much mere mortals cannot. But then, what happens when their very, very human bodies + brains + spirits cannot take it anymore? Or at least one Double Ohs' cannot? This story is a wonderful exploration of what happens when Q shows up where Bond is hiding out after a mission which ended poorly. It turns out (for: reasons) MI6's Quartermaster, highly skilled at preparing agents for missions, is equally skilled at helping at least 007 navigate some tricky emotional terrain afterwards. This is beautiful, poignant, real, raw, tender, with just enough humour look at what happens when Bond cannot force himself not to feel.

Yes, this is a WIP, but the author wrote the last chapter in a way which feels complete enough for now.

[thestalwartheart]

slow.

Fandom: James Bond (Craig Movies) Rating: Teen & Up Audiences Pairing: 00Q Word count: 654 Summary: Q teaches Bond the value in slowing down.

[Read on AO3.]

Their first kiss hadn’t been much to write home about.

It was a short, drunken thing outside the MI6 end-of-year party, a moment of warmth amongst the sting of the wind and the peril of Q’s feet trying their best to slip on icy ground. In his fuzzy recollection of the event, the kiss hardly started before it was over. At the time, he assumed it was Bond's way of saying goodbye and thank you and I kiss all my friends, now it's your turn. In other words, all par for the course with a man like Bond, who excelled at declarations made through physicality and physicality alone.

So Q hadn’t ever expected there to be a second kiss, though he thought if there ever were one, he expected it to be a bit more considered.

It wasn’t.

It came late on an otherwise average Thursday when Bond, for no particular reason, showed up at Q’s front door. It had only just slammed closed against the gaze of his nosy neighbours before Bond grabbed Q’s face in those wonderful, broad hands and pulled him in for a scorching kiss. For a moment, he was so swept up in the fervour of it that he didn’t notice his cats meowing at the end of the hallway or the lingering cold of the air Bond had brought in with him. Nor did he notice Bond taking off his own scarf or sliding a bottle of wine onto the hallway table. The world ceased to exist beyond the chill of those slightly-chapped lips against his own, the tongue tracing the seam of his mouth and the feel of cool, fine leather gloves against his heated cheeks.

But when he did come back to himself, Q felt, well…restless.

For weeks, he had been thinking frequently — far too frequently— about how he’d like to approach a second go-round, and he wasn’t in the mood to rush the opportunity. In fact, he quite resented Bond for being in such a godawful hurry all the time.

When Bond pulled back from the kiss, Q hummed in thought.

“You kiss as if you’re going to be ripped away from it any second,” he murmured. As gracefully as he could manage, Q walked them back to a wall until Bond was pressed against it. His fingers played at Bond’s collarbone lightly, slid up the stubbly hill of his throat, then traced around the tip of an ear. Bond had forgone his usual tie and undone one too many buttons on his shirt, probably with the intent of rattling Q. Fortunately for everyone involved, Q remained unrattled. “Here.”

The next kiss was soft, languid. Something to be savoured rather than burned through. They were of a height, normally, but as Bond gave into his pleasure, he sagged slightly against the wall at his back, giving Q the height advantage. He made good use of it, curling a hand around Bond’s jaw and tipping his face up while he sucked at that plush bottom lip, the one that always seemed protruded in a perennial pout. The air between them smelled of Bond's aftershave.

“There, now,” Q whispered, breaking away with a lovely wet sound. “That’s better. How was it, living life in the slow lane for a moment?”

Bond straightened up and gazed at him with hooded eyes. Or gazed at his lips, really. Q imagined they were redder than usual. They were of a height again, which Q had to admit he much preferred.

“Certainly more tantalising than I expected.”

“Then…might a continued demonstration be in order?”

Bond laughed. “You’re a pompous little shit.” Though there was no sting to the words, Q raised a warning eyebrow anyway, and was pleased to see Bond’s laughter morph into something heavier. Huskier. “All right. What have you got for me, Quartermaster?”

“Oh, plenty.” Q trailed his thumb over Bond’s mouth. “Shall we get started?”

[patrice-bergerons]

good morning sleeping beauty + 00Q? 👀

here, may I present a perfect double drabble-

Q loved James—in that quiet, stubborn way that knows no words.  In the afternoons and over the comms and through long nights.  But it was in the mornings that he loved James the most.

James was a perennial early riser—whether it was by nature or had been beaten into him by Queen and country, Q never quite figured out.  Often it meant being enticed from sleep by lips ghosting over his pulsepoint, until his body, not yet quite awake, was already arching with desire.  At other times, shuffling downstairs to find James fixing breakfast.  Q would rest his head on his shoulder and James would murmur “good morning sleeping beauty”, a smile lighting up his face.

But today he slept.  

He was lying on his stomach, hugging the pillow with his cheek squished against it.  They’d drawn the curtains but light, like hope, has a way of sneaking in—even against terrible odds, even around closed curtains.  And enveloped in the fuzzy glow, he looked decades younger than he was.  Unburdened.  Q wished he could give James this, build it in his workshop—a life of peace.  In its absence, he pressed a feather-light kiss on James’ temple and let him sleep.

[reallyneedsalife]

QB-X8 Project Proposal - Headcanon Day

Q loves sugary foods, but by god give him cake and he'll kick you. Nobody quite knows why, but the man cannot stand it. Maybe it's the texture, but the minions are yet to find a flavour he can stand.

Q also curses like a sailor, but almost never in public. The first time R heard him swear, they walked into a wall out of shock.

He also pointedly hates being in pictures, but loves taking them of others. Even if it isn't of his friends faces, but aesthetics or backdrops. Eve started an Instagram for them a while back, and it's rather successful.

Q has literally no clue about the political state of the UK. Ask him about a foreign country and he'll give you a detailed analysis and possibly go on a rant about foreign officials, but this man doesn't even realise when it gets close to general elections. M and Tanner hate it.

Q works with tech, and can make it dance for him, but that doesn't mean he trusts it. He knows how it can be used.

Q-Branch is the only branch in the building where you can get away with messing with the dress code. Minion 12 frequently comes in in full emo makeup and dresses like a teenager. Minion 42 hasn't had his natural hair colour for close to 5 years. Minions 13 wears slippers to work, but only the ones with grip as the last time they didn't Q told them off for putting their own life at risk due to slipping in a place where they make the agents weapons.

Hiring runs a dating scheme to try and get operatives together. They claim responsibility for not only 00Q but MoneyR

Speaking of Hiring, it's not just Q and M that have letters for names. A is head of Accounting, H is head of Hiring, D runs Medical (as in D for Doctor), P runs the Psych teams. Even if they aren't official code names, it became a bit of an inside joke after they all met Whishaw!Q who down right refused to share his name.

James, as we all know, hates medical, but he hates being sick even more. An injury will have him running for the hills to avoid medical, but if he's ill you'd find him calling in sick.

Most of MI6 field agents are orphans, but not all. Q had a huge family, but got disowned when he was young. Mallory!M had many siblings but not so many extended family members, but most assume he died due to his injuries at the hands of the IRA due to him cutting contact after becoming M. 3 of the Q-Branch minions are triplets, 2 are cousins, 4 are related in increasingly funny ways.

The Double-Ohs have lots of little ways they remember fallen friends. 004 leaves the door open of his office even if he's busy, just like the old 009 used to do. 003 gives chocolate to the Hiring branch every year on the 13th of March, just like the last 002 used to do. 005 sends flowers to the other Double-Ohs who are home when they're off on a cover mission that should last more than 2 months, just like the 5 that came before her.

Similarly, MI6 has a private cemetery out in the countryside. No names, only empty graves, dates, and designations. In the HQ in London, there is a commemorative wall of names. Small plaques, with designations, first names and the last place they were seen inscribed on them. People leave things behind on the anniversary of the deaths, personal things, or simple things like a shot of whiskey or a single petal.

Everyone avoids the water stations, vending machines, coffee machines and storage lockers on Basement Level 2. Nobody new is quite sure why. Even some of the older staff aren't exactly sure.

The best food is served in the MI6 canteen between 2 and 6 AM.

I have a few more of these, but they are more suited for other day's so they can stay in my drafts for now :]

[dhampir72]

🥺😈🛠️🙋‍♀️💖👀🤩✅ thanks and hope you are feeling a lot more better now x

Wow thanks for so many asks! Some of these have already been answered, so I'll tackle the ones that haven't yet :)

🛠 What tools/programs/apps do you use to write?

I'm a basic bitch and use Google Docs xD

🙋‍♀️ Do any irl people know you write fanfic?

My close friends do know :) And actually my old boss, too. It's funny because she came into the room for my interview and we just looked at each other and somehow knew. Spent the majority of the interview talking about LJ and AO3. We were, of course, professional and did not divulge our fandoms lol my bestie, of course, knows I write and knows my fandom. She's like "you're still writing about James Bond and his twink boyfriend? hasn't it been like 10 years?" which sometimes feels like a nuke being dropped on my house

💖 What made you start writing?

Hmmm I don't know! Ever since I was a little kid I was always writing stories to entertain myself. It just sort of continued on from there!

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

I'm actually working on this one for someone lovely for Valentine's day. There is a mysterious baker at MI6! Who could it be??

🤩 Who is your favorite character to write?

Hmmm in the 00Q fandom I really like to write from Bond's POV :)

✅ What’s something that appears in your fics over and over and over again, even if you don’t mean to?

I have a love of always mentioning the insides of wrists and the hollows of throats. I don't know why but these are just such beautiful images that I can't quite help it. I also tend to overuse the phrase "catches [him] in the throat" because there's something just something about it that is so versatile. It can be visceral, painful, a vice like grip round the throat, choking, leaving one breathless and gasping. Or something softer, that catches at you unexpectedly warm and kind, making you feel small, fragile, loved; so much that you feel it in your chest, and in a heat behind your eyes. I know I should probably find another phrase, but I do like this one very much~

Thanks again for the asks :) This has been a lot of fun!

[positivityjediprince]

Get to Know Me - A Tag Game

rules: tag a few people you want to know better; make a new post, don't reblog!

Favourite colour:

I'm a big yellow fan! I'm such a dork I love buttercups and suflowers and daisies and sunshine. I'm sorry, I know that's kinda cringe but yellow is just so :D you know?

Currently reading:

So much fanfic lmao....

But non-fanfic wise I'm on and off reading this book called "Even More Opera Annecdotes" which I live for, it's all like snippets of opera world drama and moments - like Janet Baker sassing Pavarotti. It makes me so happy because even the great professionals are dumb nerds!

Last song:

Apparently Dolly Parton "Why'd you come in here looking like that."

But I'm my dream I was singing/there was playing "He is an English Man" from Gilbert and Sullivan HMS Pinafore.

Last Movie:

Man I had to think hard about this one... Genuinely I think it was this terrible animated film called "The Seventh Dwarf" ...I put it on to traumatise my house mates cause it looked awful ..and it was.

Last Serise:

Last watched its Louis Theroux Forbidden America.

Last finished it's Supernatural Academy (which I do sort of recommend even tho it's stupid it's quite charming - with great rep - and I greatly enjoyed it! The soundscaping is wack af tho cause covid lol)

Sweet, spicy or savoury:

It's gotta be sweet! Especially baked goods! Give me Krapfen and brioche all day everyday!

Coffee or tea:

TEA BABY! Like not to be a stereotype but tea is life, though it has to be non-cafinated versions/herbal because my heart doesn't take caffeine well.

Three ships:

DinLuke is of course my number one and light of my life!!!

Then it's for sure Geraskier! Who I also adore with all my heart.

And third hmm it's probably quite tied it's probably between James Bond/Q (00Q) and Catadora! (embarrassingly my first thought was me and my bf ew what a sap I am)

First ever ship:

This is going to make sense to none of you but Yoyo/Crocky from this Austrian TV show called 'Simsala Grimm' - when I was small I thought they were like married I'm ngl. They're the chaotic bubbly feral himbo and sensible awkward nerdy one (who is very Done TM with the other person's shenanigans) couple - I think that was fundamental to my concept of relationships.

Currently working on:

I'm working on the last two chapter of Heaven knows I've needed someone like you for so long and a REALLY DUMB one shot - both DinLuke ofc!

And also my ever growing drabble drafts!

Favourite piece of clothing:

Probably the show hoodie from the last opera I did at university - it was the first time I got a real lead (and it was a big role) and people believed in me and I realised that I am worth something and that I can become an opera singer - which is big because if been working my butt off to recover my singing from the damage done by my ED. So yeah that means a lot to me even if I don't wear it that much.

Comfort food:

SOUP AND OR GOULASH with sexy Austrian bread.

Favourite time of the year:

Ooooooo summer but the bit of summer where it's the evening and it's still warm and you're outside with your pack and the sun is setting but you know you'll still be out here for a while being silly and having deep convos.

Fave fanfic:

Now THIS is a hard one! I'm gonna cheat a bit cause there's three from different fandoms that spring to mind.

I'm gonna say DinLuke "oh the things we left behind" because it is beyond beautiful and id say it is my number one overall.

Also close is Saoghal Tinn (00Q) which grasped me and never let me go - even if you don't know/ship them I'd recommend it if you like well written and tense zombie apocalypse stuff with gays.

And one I keep going back to for serotonin is Animal Instinct (Geraskier) I adore soft feral Geralt and when he's sad Jaskier won't eat the rats he brought him lives rent free in my head.

Thank you to @thewriterowl and @feralsunspotandtincan for tagging me you cuties!!!

And here we have the tagging dilemma of the DinLuke dorks to double tag or not to double tag!

@veradragonjedi (double tagged bestie I'm sorry!) @mandobogwitch @mando-punk @kriffinjoy @mysticmjolnir ofc no pressure guys!! ❤️❤️

[earlgreyinpajamas]

00q fic recs: gift giving

1. So If You Give by TheCatOnTheMoon

Bond gives Q things because of reasons. Q thinks that Bond completely misses the point.

~~~

oblivious!q is my favourite trope, but pining!bond who doesn't know he’s pining is a close second

2. The Knight of the Blue Rose by SvengoolieCat

Once upon a time there was a faerie prince of the forests who loved a mortal knight of Albion. The prince was good-hearted and gentle, and once his heart was given, he would never waver. He longed to whisk the knight away to the lands of Faerie, but captive love is not true love, so he wooed the knight with clever gifts and help in his quests.

~~~

it’s a fantasy au, and it’s so good. the writing style is quite whimsical and fairy tale-ish and i really enjoyed it.

3. Of Cats and Mortgages by SvengoolieCat (@svengooliecat)

“He did my job for me, killing his master,” Bond said. “He got around his feet and tripped him down a flight of stairs. Leaving him to get blown up with the rest of them seemed a churlish way to repay him.”

The cat chirruped agreeably, and washed a paw. Despite being brought from south Ireland in a bag, the feline looked well-cared for.

“You brought me a cat. A murder cat, owned by your villain du jour.”

In which Q is brought offerings of murder cats, keeps losing his pens to a certain kleptomaniacal agent, and is generally oblivious to/confused by Bond's attempts at catching his attention.

~~~

i love cats and gift giving bond and this fic is just so well written and so sweet and so funny, i melted.

[castillon02]

👀 this is not really In The Rules but can i get your favorite idea from 00q plotbunnies

“Are you all right?” he asked. Bond had finished up three days ago but hadn’t checked in; not unusual for him. Q gave him a more careful once-over than he had before, but didn’t see anything new. “Did something happen on your mission?” 

“You wouldn’t know, would you?” Bond asked, pushing into Q’s space, his eyes frigid. “Been a bit busy on your vengeance spree. And even if you did know, what would you do about it? Hopefully not what you did for—.” 

“I would do exactly what I did for 001,” Q interrupted. “I would do my best.” He met Bond stare for stare but could not bring himself to broaden his own stance, to bring his shoulders up, to meet Bond’s apparent anger with his own. He had none left to give. “That’s all I have to offer,” he added. “Just like anyone.” He looked away then. Although not quite a lie, it was not quite the truth either. He hadn’t realized—hadn’t even contemplated…and so he had lost 001 before he’d been aware that he had him.        

But he could take steps to prevent it from happening again, he thought, looking at Bond’s flushed, angry face only inches away from his own. He could start right now. Physical closeness, that was the key. 

“I read all of the mission reports, Mr. Managed-to-Only-Blow-Up-A-Single-Managuan-Dockyard,” Q said, “and if the effort of not blowing things up still has you too tired to find a hotel, then you can have half of the bed so long as you promise not to molest me. I have a king-size.”  

“I see,” Bond said. His face and voice had gone the kind of suavely blank that tended to indicate total incomprehension in experienced agents. 

 “Well, I have the space and the salary for it, so I thought, why not? It’s important to make sure you sleep right when you get to sleep at all,” Q said. He managed a small smile. “So, if you could, er…” He inched toward an edge where Bond wasn’t boxing him in quite so closely. 

Bond stepped back a few feet. “I think I can promise not to molest you,” he said with a wry twist of his mouth.  

 “I am amazed at this unheard-of feat of self-control,” Q informed him. 

@midrashic My 00Q white whale, which I have some scenes and a vague outline for, is the one where Q is psychic in a very specific kind of way: if he touches something (or someone) often enough, then he always knows where they are. He goes through life limiting himself to handshakes, not wanting to be too invasive, and he locates his agents via their equipment, all of which he’s personally assembled so that he can track it. 

Then 001 goes missing, his equipment dumped far away from his body, and they’ve done something---physically destroyed him thoroughly enough, maybe---so that Q can’t find him. Q doesn’t take this well. He resolves to figure out how to get physical with his agents without getting physical with his agents, because he’s responsible for their safety and he owes them every advantage they can get, including whatever quasi-mystical GPS bullshit he was born with. 

One of the 00s gives him dance lessons. Another teaches him self-defense. Anything that involves physical contact. It’s a whole thing. And while Q is putting himself extremely out of his comfort zone in the name of what he calls ‘increased interdepartmental cohesion,’ the 00s are trying to figure out their new, apparently-mental quartermaster. At least his methods, however bizarre, seem founded in loyalty. And they haven’t failed yet, which is enough for them to get on with.  

Anyway! It turns out that vague magic powers are hard to write, so.    

[aniron48]

How about "home" for 00q - or if someone already claimed that, "hug"?

Thank you so much for the ask, friend! I needed something tender, today, and this was the perfect excuse to get this out of my head and onto the page. Without further ado, “Hug” is below, and up on ao3. (And for those curious about “Home,” you can find that one here.)

“Bloody buggering fucking shit!” Q cries out, shaking his hand against the pain shooting through his thumb.

“Q?” Bond walks into Q Branch, freshly returned from his mission to Rome. He looks tired, Q thinks—all he has time to think before James drops the bag he was carrying over his shoulder and takes Q’s hand in his own.

“What happened here?” Bond asks, bringing Q’s injured thumb to his lips.

“Smashed it in the bloody drawer,” Q said. He closes his eyes against the tears starting in them. He’s managed to keep it together, over the last two days, and somehow this is what sends him over: James Bond cradling his hand as if it’s something precious, and the simple promise of care.

Bond notices, because of course he does. “And what else?” He asks, releasing Q’s hand to wipe the drops collecting in the corners of his eyes.

Q shakes his head. “It’s nothing, really. Just a hard few days.”

“Tell me.”

“I’d much rather hear how your trip home went.”

Bond just waits.

Q sighs. “It’s just everything at once, I suppose. I got a flat tire on my bike halfway through my commute, yesterday morning, and I haven’t had time to get it fixed, so I’ve had to take the Tube. I’ve spilled at least three cups of tea in the last 48 hours, one on my personal laptop, mind, and the other on my jacket right before my meeting with the Foreign Minister. R got distracted in the lab, and accidentally blew up the new drone prototype, and now she’s beside herself. I’ve had to send her home to recover. And then there was—“ Q stops himself, and he thinks it’s in time, but the fug of bad luck that’s been hovering over him these last few days won’t be dispersed that easily.

“And then there was Rome,” Bond finishes for him.

The woman in Rome, to be precise; the neglected wife of the mission’s primary target. Bond’s type, if ever he had one, a pretty brunette with guarded eyes and impractical shoes.

“I’m sorry—” Bond begins, but Q cuts him off.

“Not for this,” Q says. “Don’t apologize for doing what you have to do to stay alive.”

“I keep hoping each one will be the last,” Bond admits, and Q’s stomach twists. He’s been horribly selfish, caught up in his own petty jealousies, when it must be so much harder for Bond, forced by circumstance and duty to country into bed with people he doesn’t want. “I can’t think of you, when I’m with them. I won’t let myself. I don’t want—“

I don’t want to taint my memories of you with them, Bond had said, after the first time they’d kissed. Q had expected they would fall into bed, after, or couch, or even wall. But instead they’d had an unexpectedly earnest conversation at Q’s kitchen table, one in which Bond had asked him if they could wait for anything more until after his retirement from the field in five weeks’ time. I know I don’t own you. You’re not my possession. I don’t mean it like that. But I want something that’s wholly mine.

“But I think of you, once they’re gone,” Bond says. “At night, when I’m alone again.” He pauses, takes Q’s injured hand in his again. Q had forgotten, quite frankly, to notice that it hurt. “Have I been selfish, asking for this?”

“No,” Q says. “No, you haven’t.” He thinks of Austria, of a sleek Aston Martin pulling out of the garage in Q Branch, and the sound of Bond gunning the engine. In addition to his almost casual heroism, James Bond is also capable of extraordinary acts of selfishness. Q is familiar enough with them to know that this isn’t one.

“Are you going to tell me what you think about, once you’re alone?” Q asks, and he means it to dispel the mood, to move the conversation somewhere lighter, but it doesn’t quite work.

“Everything,” Bond says, and it sounds almost wistful. “Everything you can imagine. And then all the way home, all I could think about was this.”

Bond pulls Q into a hug, then, slow and impossibly tender. He slides a hand to the middle of Q’s lower back, presses the other between Q’s shoulders to guide him closer, and Q surrenders to it, wrapping his arms around Bond’s waist and turning his face into the crook of Bond’s neck. Q can breathe, like this, for what feels like the first time in days.

“Three more weeks,” Bond says, and the date of his impending retirement sounds like a promise, and a prayer. “Maybe sooner. I need to check how much leave I have coming, see if I can shave any time off of the end.”

Q just nods, and for a long moment, they just hold each other, the only sound the slow tick of the clock on the wall, time moving relentlessly onward. Q can feel the beat of Bond’s heart against his, the warm puffs of breath against his face. Bond smells faintly of cologne and of the winter air outside, and Q lets it anchor him, a port in a buffeting sea. He would know that scent anywhere, he thinks. He’s known it for years.

“You know, don’t you,” Bond says, his lips against Q’s hair. “What you have of mine that they don’t.”

Q swallows, and Bond’s arms tighten around him. “Tell me anyway,” Q says.

Bond leans in, impossibly close, and whispers the words in Q’s ear.

[10kiaoi]

A special to kick off Villain Day. ;D

And for the 007 Fest Anon prompt:  Hannibal 00q AU

Notes: Unbetaed as always. Canon typical violence. It’s a Hannibal AU- mentions of murder and stuff, no blood. Art of a tableau under cut. 

His guest is running late, table placement set yet seat left empty. It’s an unforgivable rudeness to be left wondering if he’s been stood up after all, he’s rather miffed about it in all honesty. 

There are no messages or missed calls left on his cell. 

Accepting the offer of a wine list, he picks one that won’t demolish his palate entirely before the meal even begins. He’s determined to make the best of the outing- it hasn’t been easy getting a reservation at this particular establishment.  

He considers the likelihood of his guest meeting an unfortunate fate- the tube breaking down, an accident on the road, perhaps a regrettable mugging. Even a last minute call to duty by Scotland Yard.    

Distress is an unusual affliction; he finds himself loathing the depth of it.  

The yelling starts out small, an indignant exclamation that quickly morphs into uncontrolled outrage.

He wonders how such a beast has been allowed to step foot into the restaurant at all.

Such rowdiness isn’t his purview and given the establishment, staff will no doubt be along soon enough to see to it. No reason to ruin a perfectly good night with such uncouth displays despite an overwhelming desire to put the table knife to good use.  

A quick glance at the reflection in a fortuitously placed wine glass stretches his patience to its ends. It’s endurance of the highest magnitude that prevents him from acting rashly.  

The maître d' goes waltzing past his table briskly and he takes a moment to spare the courteous and hardworking man a sympathetic glance.  

----

“They found a tableau.”

The young man slides smoothly onto the bench next to him. He pauses, his graphite study momentarily losing all draw. The pencil is all too heavy in his hand though its point is pathetically dulled by use. 

As far as he can tell, Q has come completely unarmed. 

He obediently passes both sketchbook and graphite pencil over when Q motions for them. 

“It was quite the dreadful scene down at the docks. You can’t imagine the chaos when the Mister and Missus of the vessel turned up after getting the call,” Q states glibly. 

Amusingly, Q starts correcting his study. A shade darker here, a warped line there. Slowly, the warship starts looking less like a jumble of scribbles and more like a black and white photograph. 

The stern comes into sharp focus, then the masts and hull. Finally, Q etches out the bow, paying loving attention to the bowsprit.

His eyes follow the pencil strokes, enthralled by the graceful movements.

“They were utterly infuriated- poor Missus fainted right on the spot. I dare say the vessel won’t be in their hands much longer, not with a Double Oh having graced its decks,” Q continues.   

He tilts his head in askance. 

Q remains silent for a moment, gaze distant.

He wonders what Q is reliving that very moment when it’s clear his mind is no longer here, in the museum where his physical self sits. 

Finally, Q whispers with no small amount of trepidation, “I think it was Seven making a statement.” 

----

“A figurehead?” he queries later in the privacy of his office, reaching for a bottle of Merlot.  

Q nods. “Why,” Q gripes, “why a trust fund baby with his hands in several of the biggest rental agencies with exorbitant rental rates at that -” He cuts himself off with a frustrated groan, sprawling messily over the sofa. 

He pours two glasses, offers one to Q who accepts it gratefully. 

“It’s just, he was a toff and a powerful one too, offshore accounts would do that- hardly worth the effort and risk of capture,” Q mumbles, biting his lip, “it’s not pathological to Seven- what has he got to gain?”

“Besides satisfaction from the act of killing?”

The look Q shoots him is particularly venomous. He hides his smile behind his glass.  

Back in his own sofa seat, he drinks in the view before him. Of an aggravated young man, wonderfully brilliant and oh so enticing. Marvels at Q’s state of mind- how desperate he is to understand, to see, to empathise.  

All it takes is a little nudge and he’s perfectly posed to help Q come unto a higher comprehension.

He sets his glass on a side table, leaning forward on his sofa. It earns him Q’s full focus, hazel eyes eyeing his motion attentively as if he has answers to all of Q’s questions. 

It’s more than a little intoxicating to be the one person Q looks to in his time of need. 

“The people of the past used to dedicate many hours to carve figureheads out of solid wood,” he offers, “They believed the figureheads were powerful symbols of protection that would guide their vessels through treacherous seas.”   

“Seven believed… The benefits outweigh the risks?” Q ventures uncertainly, brows furrowing in deep thought. “The tableau was left there for us to find...” 

“A message,” he interprets, blood rushing with anticipation, “think Q, use that big brain of yours. What is the tableau saying?”

“It was meant to be found, to be seen, be celebrated.” Q lunges up from his seat, pacing anxiously between the window and the sofas. “He’s absolutely elated, he’s found something, no, someone- a safe harbour.” 

His eyes follow Q’s frantic pacing around the room. Close, so close- 

“Chester’s slaughter was just the cherry on top- well deserved for his injustice against society by not paying his dues. It’s justice wrapped up in a nice little package, like a message in a bottle-” Q grinds to a halt in the middle of the room.  

“Oh, oh, ” Q flushes, eyes impossibly wide, “It’s a declaration of courtship.”  

He eyes the way Q’s tongue pops out to wet his lips, throat working through several false starts. He savours the flash of realisation in those lovely irises, even as he sits primed to react. 

“I appreciate the sentiment, if not the delivery,” Q breathes wryly.

----

Q slides into the unoccupied seat at the table with an aggravated sigh, having finally escaped the poorly behaved fellow diner. 

The plain little business card he hands over slips into the depths of Bond’s suit jacket, with the other diners none the wiser.    

“He thought I was a waiter and took offence at my refusal to serve him.,” Q grumbles when he looks at him in askance, “I could feel your distaste a mile away.”  

He smiles, absurdly pleased by his partner’s consideration.

[azure7539arts]

Sword

Pairing: Q/James Bond (00Q)

Prompt(s): Fantasy + Tradesman (for the AU prompt table)

Warning: None

Summary: Once upon a time, there was a prophecy of destruction and resurrection. But that would be a story for another time.

Or: Bond sought out a blacksmith for help. A duel ensued.

A/N: this was supposed to be a drabble... And here we are. Special thanks to @10kiaoi and @solarmorrigan because you two have been hearing me whine about this for days. I’m also very grateful to everyone who has given me words of praise and encouragement throughout my writing process! I hope you all enjoy this!

-

-

“Come back in a week, and pick out your champion.” His voice was deceptively soft for the ramrod iron spine behind those words. “Should your warrior prevail, I will consider giving you help.”

Suddenly, Bond felt his blood boil. “A week? Seclusion or not, surely you must be aware of the civil war that’s raging across the country even as we speak.” 

The blacksmith hummed, that blazing fire from the forge just off to the side casting a burning glow on his person. He seemed almost indifferent yet incredibly focused at the same time, and Bond didn’t understand—

“I’m highly aware. Just as much as I’m aware that you and your men have barely scraped through that last battle by the skin of your teeth.” Bond barely swallowed back an indignant hiss, battle-wearied and tormented. The sheer exhaustion and heavy casualty they’d suffered under the hands of the enemy were bleeding his patience dry. “Raging civil war or not, you can’t tell me you don’t need time to regroup. And I’m not so cruel as to strike you when you’re down in the mud and defenceless either.”

Bond’s hand tightened around the hilt of his broken sword.

And for the first time, the blacksmith smiled.

A sudden chill descended over the sweltering furnace heat of the workshop.

“One week from now at dawn break precise, Lord Bond of Skyfall. No more, no less.”

-

The promised day arrived overcast, windswept with the phantom stench of blood in the air, and the blacksmith stood a lone figure in the meadow, a sword seemingly too heavy held in the loose grip of his hand.

Whatever it was made out of, the blade shone like a bright beacon under this angle of light, pure and unblemished like fresh fallen snow, and Bond couldn’t keep his eyes off it.

“Are you serving as your own champion?” the blacksmith asked, his voice steady and slicing right through the hissing air currents. No pretense of pleasantries.

At least Bond could appreciate that.

Alec shifted warily behind him. He’d asked to fight in Bond’s stead before, many times over the course of last week, in fact, but Bond had turned him down every time. Not least because of the still healing gash in his side. 

Bond had come here to ask for a personal weapon, and a weapon he shall get for himself—through his own damn efforts and no one else’s. The troop’s eyes were on him, and he wouldn’t fail. Not right now.

Not like this.

“Yes,” Bond replied simply.

“Good.”

The fight began in an instant, absolutely without preamble, and by the time their weapons made impact with a loud screech of metal on metal, Bond could still hear the surprised cries of his men not too far away. He gritted his teeth and retaliated using brute force to thrust the blacksmith backward, the twang of that clash just now still traveling up his arm in an uncomfortable, numbing ache.

(He’d been skeptical at first, considering the near unbearable youthfulness that had been evident before his eyes, but now, Bond understood why this blacksmith was revered to be one of the legendary masters of the realm.)

Unsurprisingly, the man landed on his feet without trouble, already springing forth by the next breath drawn, and Bond flexed Alec’s borrowed sword, charging straight ahead also, never one to let himself fall into a state of disadvantage if he could help it.

From that point on, the fight progressed in an almost surreal manner.

The blacksmith engaged with a strange leisured fervor—languid but intense, razor sharp yet unhurried. It was as though he was watching—assessing—and the realization raised Bond’s hackles for the first time. He didn’t mind being watched; he’d grown up practically in the eyes of the public, but it was a different thing altogether when he couldn’t tell what he was being watched for.

At least the stormy depths of those cryptic eyes with their ever-changing colors didn’t seem to conceal any malicious intents. And Bond would know; he’d encountered too many backstabbers not to.

“James!”

Bond barely dodged the upward swing that had been close to slitting his throat clean open. Distantly, he wondered if he really had gotten lucky there, but whatever the answer was, the tip of the sword managed to nick him anyway, fresh blood spilling bright red and hot from the veins. He clutched at his neck with a sharp hiss now, eyes narrowed and chest slightly heaving with elevated breaths.

Annoyance flared a bright solar burst underneath the rapid beating of his heart, but Bond calmed down from the sole comfort that his challenger wasn’t doing too well, either. Bond smirked, all teeth and a little predatory.

He had landed a rather vicious kick himself, and judging from how the blacksmith was somewhat hunched over right then instead of reassuming his initial firm, unwavering stance, Bond must’ve caused a bit of damage, too.

Mutual points for both parties, so it would appear. 

Bond looked down to eye at those small indents that had started to chip off from the body of Alec’s once intact sword, and lowered his sticky hand.

“Let’s finish this.”

Despite the fact that the blacksmith’s techniques were a combination of oddities that Bond hadn’t really witnessed before, he still had his real-world experiences from being in and out of active combat for the last ten years or so. Still had all his knowledge from starting out on his courses for martial training twice longer. And Bond could see, with observation and a survival instinct honed through the countless storms of his youth, where the openings of his opponent lay.

That was more than enough.

Bond swung, then, with a turn of his arm, sharply twisted the motion upward. 

Alec’s blade fractured with a resounding clang, but in that singular moment in time, Bond couldn’t find it in himself to be concerned. He reached out and snatched the blacksmith’s flung sword from midair.

It settled into his palm a perfect, balanced weight.

“Impatient bastard,” came a whispered breath.

But Bond couldn’t quite hear it. The words, much like the subsequent clamoring of his men, morphed a jumbled mess in his ears as a whiplash of energy seized up the length of his arm in a shock of lightning from where he was gripping this sword. Glowing runes began materializing along its steel, and Bond sucked in a gulp of air through his teeth.

What felt like just a flawlessly crafted weapon a second ago now bore a sheer familiarity that rendered him incredulous. The sword felt right in his hand, as though itself a newly added extension of him, and its metal rang a vibration that burrowed deep like a blood covenant woven through his very flesh and bones, a humming song of satisfaction and protection.

When Bond realized to lift his head back up again, caught up in the tail end of a dizzying spell, it was to find both himself and the blacksmith encased in a ring of fire. From the looks of things, Alec and his troops were currently trying to find a way to get past the flames, with very little to no success.

The blacksmith stood before him, unbothered by the razing chaos all around, another smile tugging at the corner of his lips while specks of amber seared gilded brands of molten iron in the pools of those eyes.

He was far too calm. Too knowing.

“I won,” Bond said, voice low and unexpectedly hoarse.

“And the sword has chosen you as its first and final master.” He nodded, amused. “It was practically trying to leap out of my hand the second it tasted your blood.”

Bond frowned, storing away the casual implication that the sword—his sword—was at least partially sentient for later inspection.

He had more important matters to investigate at the moment.

“It’s yours to keep now. You can even give it a name—”

“Did you put a curse on this?”

The other man blinked, momentarily blindsided and flustered for the first time since they’d met. “What—A curse? Why would I do that?”

“Then, what is your play here, Battlemage?” Bond ground out, nearly spitting the word. “Posturing as a simple blacksmith.”

Said Battlemage stopped now, head tilting to the side, expression sharpening into a simmering stillness and lethality that sent a shiver up Bond’s spine. While Bond maintained that he was the one spearheading this interrogation, the immense presence of that unblinking stare still made him feel stripped bare and oddly vulnerable. Not unlike a pinned up specimen trapped under a cold and merciless gaze.

(He would quickly learn, after this, that he’d be better off not having this particular side of the battlemage directed at him and his men. For obvious safety reasons.)

“I didn’t posture as anything. I create weapons for my own pleasure,” he replied slowly. “I’ve never claimed to be a blacksmith, nor have I ever called myself one.”

Bond paused, mouth twisting. He recalled their last encounter, knew this to be true. Regardless, there were still too many questions left unanswered. And in a war of this calibre, he’d rather not needlessly risk his followers’ lives and well-being. “That still doesn’t explain what you’re trying to accomplish. Why are you doing this?”

“The opposition has taken to deploying sorcerers to decimate your troops and allies because your king has deprived his people of magic for so long, it’s now become a weakness to be exploited. By one of your very own.”

Such a blatant tone of derision jarred, and Bond clenched his jaws in an involuntary response. However, at the same time, only Alec had ever spoken to him in this kind of straightforward manner, but not really quite so, even then. Not quite like this.

“But you’re not your imbecilic king—you’re a pragmatic man. You understand that this situation requires a proper measure of counterattack,” the Battlemage carried on, that lilting quality to his speech belay the ripping knives behind every word. “I can be that counterattack.”

It was Bond’s turn to stare. To say that he was startled would be an understatement. True sorcerers were already few and far between, but actual battlemages were of a different breed altogether. 

Skilled in not just the arts of war and physical combat, they were also rumored to possess great enough magical capabilities to change even the tides of battles on the precipice of imminent defeat. The appearance of a battlemage had only been recorded throughout the known history for a handful of times, all of which were critical turning points that had marked either the end or the beginning of an era.

The most important thing? 

No side with the support of a battlemage had ever lost.

“Why?” Bond swallowed. Anyone else would call him a fool for being stubborn, for keeping on pressing. One shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, and all that. But Bond didn’t do blind trust—he refused to. “We don’t know each other. There’s no reason for you to help me.”

The Battlemage looked a hair’s breadth away from rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Let me ask you this, then: what made you decide to seek out my help?”

“Because—” Briefly, Bond considered lying, but went against it in the end. “Because your reputation precedes you.”

The answer seemed to lend the Battlemage a gratified edge. “And the same goes for yours.” A fresh gust of wind blew, and Bond realized that the unnatural fire surrounding them was finally easing down to a manageable dwindle. “Besides, my weapons have never chosen wrong.”

The Battlemage extended a hand. “So, what do you say, O’ Lord Bond of Skyfall?”

His mind went blank, but somehow, Bond already knew what to do. As though right from the start, this had always been how it was meant to go.

Bond took the offered hand and felt the promised inevitability of it rest upon him undemanding, steadfast and strong.

He understood it now.

The outcome of the product would only ever be as good as the craftsman who created it.

“How should I address you?" he asked.

And the Battlemage smiled. "You can call me Q."