#rvolving: q.

[recitedemise]

Spot a familiar face a thousand times, and there'll inevitably flower a sense of camaraderie. After all, so numerous are these portraits and so robust are these grand and spiraling halls. Yet, for all those details in these jaw-dropping works, it's but another living soul that'd enthrall him the most. Like Monet. A Caravaggio! How deep his intrigue.

But then, darling Gale — lost, graceless as he stumbles in his life's new chapter — is a soul of a make much lonelier, too. Funny. Maybe Charlie would withhold it, so skilled as he is in all manners of statecraft; however, it's more the cosmos than ruses this professor pairs with his jammy scones, and admittedly, Charlie is a face he's sought out on occasion. He laughs. At the very least, this peculiar man has learned his schedule.

"Shame. I would have insisted that you did. Seeing as though you aren't, however," Gale teases, abundantly genial, "I suppose I've been forced to keep that to myself." Charlie gathers himself, scrabbling for some dignity Gale hasn't even realized he'd somehow lost. Still, he makes no mention of it, gentling the matter with that affable grin. He tries not to sound overly eager. "I'm here for leisure. It's Wednesday. I come between classes when I can," he says, "but you're hardly interrupting. Besides, I'm of the opinion that art is made all the better shared. Were it to be a singular affair, we wouldn't have these large, lumpy ottomans waiting to be taken. Gale Dekarios. I believe I was subtly asking you if you enjoyed the stars yourself." / @rvolving, continued from here.

[shivnation]

@rvolving said: we don't have any feelings, what are you talking about?

the scene is set: another secret liaison in a hotel. phones turned off, a do-not-disturb sign slung on the doorknob as the two sneak behind the backs of their partners. as the world continues to rotate and grow, somethings never change. (they do say old habits die hard, after all.)

tangled in the bedsheets, pillow talk swerves into a lane of discussion she didn't mean to bring up. it's a car crash awaiting to happen and shiv can picture the damage incoming. his words halt a further conversation from occurring, though; a translation for jest hitting the atmosphere.

shiv's not sure if nate's able to read her and the faltering expression across her features, or if he's genuinely joking. either way: she'll take it with a crashing wave of relief. feet kicking his beneath the linens, the corners of her lips curve into a smile.

"i mean, we have some feelings. clearly, something, or else we wouldn't be here." it's only natural for two consenting adults who find each other attractive to act on it. (maybe not when both parties are in relationships. albeit, evidently, not loving relationships, but she figures if a god exists— they'll smite her some day.)

"i like spending time with you, sofrelli. we have fun together. always have."

[kendulls]

@rvolving / nate: i also remember you telling me it would never actually happen.

he's stunlocked for a moment by the comment — jaw dropped, mouth agape, eyes widened synonymous with a deer in headlights. it takes kendall a few moments to compose himself, eyes blinking as he remembers who he's speaking with: nate sofrelli, of all fucking people. ❝ are you trying to catch me in some type of... fucking gotcha moment? ❞ of course the kid is — he works for a senator who's running for the presidency; that's the entire chess game of politics. catching one another in moments usable for blackmail to gain an advantage, which is exactly where kendall found himself. waystar royco, fucked, once again because of morons unable to clean up their messes before politicians got their hands on the material.

❝ look, dude — i don't have time for this. didn't shiv talk to you and your senator about this? this shit happened off my watch — the cruise ship stuff. so, with that being said, i'd recommend finding someone who has better info than me. ❞ fingers fumble with the rolex resting on his wrist, trepidation becoming visible across his face as beads of sweat begin forming at his hairline.

[rejectory]

@rvolving *

Was that a smile.

Another button he didn’t know Q had.

“Are you old enough to drive?”

Not, judging by his soaked trainers. Q in his civilian skin is a fragment of the crowd.

Altogether past circumventing what might spook whom, James makes it a once-over while he’s at it—slim ankles, bad posture, and cat hair, surprisingly—all a sum of the parts of the intellectually most dangerous person he knows——-

the size of a paperweight.

[thebestplayer-arc]

@rvolving liked for a starter from remy

SHOWING UP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT AT THE QUARTERMASTER'S APARTMENT WASN'T SOMETHING REMUS WOULD USUALLY DO. In fact , he'd tried to avoid it. He could have gone to James of course - maybe he should have but it wasn't James he wanted to talk to right now. The rain had come down suddenly as he'd gotten out of his car , drenching him from head to toe and reminding him of how drastically the weather in England could change. By the time he reaches Q's door - his hair is plastered to his head and face in a rather unflattering manner and his coat is sticking to his skin. He knocks , careful not to be too loud - not wanting to draw too much outside attention tot he fact he was here at such a late hour but he also hopes there's enough sound that the quartmaster heard it , unless he'd managed to fall asleep by now.

[bondsgotnothingonme]

❝ don’t leave. please. ❞ from q 😘

@rvolving | From HERE

“Hey - hey, I’m not going anywhere.” And wasn’t that true? Since Moneypenny called him a few hours ago (He really owed her some flowers for the heads up), James had rushed to the hospital and refused to leave Q’s side. It might seem silly - Q was a grown adult, he didn’t need anyone mothering him - but James knew first-hand how SCARY it was, laying in a hospital bed on your own. Even for something relatively minor like a fainting spell. He wouldn’t say it, but he rather suspected a lack of food, sleep and a mountain of stress and caffeine could be thanked for such a thing. 

He held Q’s hand tighter, careful of the IV sticking out of his skin. He hadn’t asked to hold it, it was something he had done before Q had even woken up, but he had no intention of letting go. It was grounding, providing some stability amongst the chaos of the hospital around them.

“At least not until you get sick of me and kick me out of here.” An attempt at HUMOUR, trying to lighten the mood a little. Anything to make Q smile. 

[chiefofsix]

“Q...” it’s nothing short of painful to see the young Quartermaster overcome - and yes, Bill absolutely considers this to be ‘overcome’ given the younger’s tendency towards stoicism - with emotion. If he looked hard enough, he imagined he could probably see the cracks spattered around Q’s heart shedding their golden veneer moment by moment. Wise beyond his years, though not anything close to naive, Bill often forgets that Q’s been through the ringer just as much as he has. Moreso, in fact, given his regular involvement in the worst of the worst with the field agents.

Tanner’s lost. He knows what he wants to do to comfort Q, but he also knows better than to presume any sort of comfort with comforting gestures. It’s a lose-lose situation; how easy would it be for words of reassurance to be read as anything more than condescension? “It’s not something that most people are equipped to deal with. It’s not- your reaction, how you’re feeling? Trust me when I say it makes complete sense,” overthinking thrown to the wind, Tanner’s always had genuineness on his side. Goodness. When all else fails, he’s hopeful that Q will read that from him and not whatever ‘he’s treating you like a naive idiot’ spiel his brain may be concocting.

“I’m here for you, whether or not that actually helps. I’m not one of the shrinks, or M, or, well, anyone else. If you need to talk about it, get it off your chest, it stays between us, Q. I’m afraid that’s the best I can offer you.”

@rvolving​ sent:  how about a fun little "I was there. I watched them… I watched them die." from q..? 🙃 ▼ angsty sentence starters

[recitedemise]

They are similar, aren't they? At this point, it's startling that they don't take their coffee the same way. He would prefer his smokier, prepared in a cevze while boasting a bitterness that would leave him wired; however, what gulfs them, he reckons, isn't the roasts they would favor or the hazelnut creamers they might sometimes indulge in. Truthfully, they're starved, he's certain, and too depressingly new with these honest sentiments. Still, where Charles might fumble with some scant discomfiture, it's Gale who's trembling at the prospect of more. Forgive him for his teeth if ever he would hear them clumsily chattering. It's neither nerves nor the tension that would have him on edge; rather, like in a bid to thwart a chill, these exchanges are warm.

That said... "Offering reasons while lacking the proper citations to refer to?" Gale says aloud. My goodness! "That certainly wouldn't satisfy any scholar worth his salt. Fortunately for you, however, your marks up to this point have been impressively high. Should you choose to leave out the bibliography for this single assignment, there's a good chance you'll come out of it relatively unscathed."

It's easy, these bartering of wits and cheeky back and forths. Hell, even the breath Charles takes would throttle this star-gazer as peculiarly grounding. They've never chatted like this before, but nonetheless, no nerve in that voice can dare to dampen the those words' vast gravity. Charles flushes rather nicely, all some peony-posey as he offers frankness. Gale finds himself beaming in a -- quiet affectation. Spooning his dessert, this dainty petit four seems bitter in comparison. "There's no need for that. I imagine you wouldn't thank the sun for daring to rear its head every morning. Looking forward to our talks takes no effort on my part. In fact, I'd go further to say that there's no conscious thought involved." As though... It was all easy instinct to take to his company joined by statues and vivid Van Goghs. My. "But some gratitude never hurts."

ah, there’s the trouble of acquainting yourself with someone quite so like-minded: you learn to catch each other out, and regrettably, this proves a two-way street. charles may be able to detect the very same self-doubt he is himself so familiar with, but likewise gale appears astute in detecting charles’ avoidance of sentiment. there’s discomfort inherent to admitting any level of affection towards another, and the layer of humour they each habitually employ seems to have been spreading a little thin as of late. not for a lack of trying. they are each too bloody clever, is the thing. (and similarly too bloody starved, perhaps, but this particular realisation stings a little too harshly to be having it over their afternoon tea.)

                    ❝ would it be easier to believe that i like you if i delivered a comprehensive list of reasons alongside it? because your initial reaction’s cast some doubt on that, frankly. ❞ he has the good sense to sound only a mite disparaging. anything else would prove horrendously hypocritical. ❝ you are very good at the whole big-headed act, i will give you that. almost convincing enough to have me bite my tongue and forego all ego-inflating compliments forever. ❞ a mighty threat!

                    and proven to be empty by charles’ subsequent sigh. defeated, though chiefly by himself. it's rather important to him that gale understand, cost it what it may – in this case, some more discomfort on charles’ part. ❝ i don’t appreciate having to explain myself, but i will concede that you are excellent company, not to mention almost outrageously welcoming to a stranger when you really did not need to be. i've not met anyone quite so genuine in a long time, and i… appreciate that. ❞ it’s gale’s gaze he is avoiding now, which proves about as revealing as the flush that’s creeping up his neck. he clears his throat and returns to sounding prim and proper: ❝ now, will that be quite enough? ❞

[rejectory]

010, the arrival hall at an airport. for bond from q?? huh???

@rvolving*

James’ limp makes a magical leap in recovery to account for the lanky flood of jumper and the bedhead drowning out of it.

Watching him.

He watches back. His day-two hunger spikes near-pleasurably.

The 1-a.m. stragglers’ rest intersperse for the loos or family coddlings, zombiedragging on the outskirts of his eyeline. Retrieving an old dog used to be below a Quartermaster’s paygrade.

Must be the efficiency he’d poetised.

In the interest of safety, parents are advised to...

“No name sign?”

Colour him disappointed.

[royalmarined]

“I can’t say I have much experience on that front, Q-” but any photograph of Chester from age 5 onwards would rather betray that assertion. He was cute in glasses. Dorky. Not handsome and rugged quite yet. Not yet blessed by the wonders of laser eye surgery, either. A frequent wearer of old - very old - threadbare knitted vests that barely counted as clothing, never mind fashionable clothing. That era had been a touch less liberating than it had been a living hell.

Then again, to each their own.

The laugh Chester expels is entirely airy, devoid of any judgment, despite the teasing implication of his initial remark. “If you’re advocating for it, though, I might have made a poor career decision continuing in field work. I don’t think ‘lame’ and ‘liberating’ belong anywhere near a sentence containing ‘double-0′, do you?”

@rvolving​ sent: “  being  lame  is  liberating.  ” (q says hi 😘) ▼ the politician

[corpatrem]

"do you really want this for the rest of your life?" - q; @rvolving​

It is hard to pinpoint the exact moment James had found himself wanting something else besides the beck and call his Majesty’s Secret Service. He still hadn’t lost it, thank you very much, but the longer recovery days had become irritatingly noticeable. It’s partly why they totted him up with a shiny Commander, wasn’t it?

But it had also been engrained within him a lifetime ago, that duty to Queen and Country outweighed any sort of want that he himself would like. It came second - nay, third, hell, last in a list of items that took priority. 

He looks up from where he’s sitting on Q’s sofa, a cup of tea precariously balanced on his knee as that wide, boyish grin spreads neatly across his features. If for a moment he had looked morose, then it had quickly faded as his eyes sharply land back on the younger man.

                        “Can’t say I’ve much choice in the matter. Every time you offer me tea, it’s this same, curious brew, Q. Why don’t you try expanding to a different blend so I don’t have to have it for the rest of my life?”

[dontcxckitup]

here to deliver a friendly “You can’t keep secrets from everyone and expect them to trust you.” from q 😘

@rvolving

   He shot his quartermaster an unimpressed glance. File in hands, he had just read through some documents, trying to find something he might have missed; but this accusation was something he didn't want to ignore. Closing the file, Mallory put it aside and fully faced Q. “Secrets are our business.” It was in the bloody name, for god’s sake!

“And I don’t expect people to trust me, Q. I’m not here to make...friends. We do our job, and we do it thoroughly. You...can’t really trust spies, can you?”

[bondsgotnothingonme]

“I won’t judge you.” from q 😘

@rvolving | From HERE

There was a certain COMFORT to be found in Q's words. James was hardly SHY, in soul or in body, but this felt different to in the field. This wasn't a stranger or another spy, someone immune to the scars their life left behind. This was in his own flat, alone and vulnerable with his torso covered in pale bandages.

It was sweet of Q to come in the first place, even if it was only a polite and professional check-up on an injured agent fresh out of medical. But perhaps that made it WORSE, having to admit to someone on a cursory visit that he needed help just to get changed into a clean shirt, so unable to stretch for FEAR of tearing stitches.

"I...Appreciate that." His hands moved back to his shirt, unbuttoning it before turning his back to Q to let him help take it off.

And it was only as it came off that the real reason James had been so HESITANT to strip his shirt came to light. Mounds of scar tissue - old and healed, but still gnarly and tight - decorated the entirety of his shoulder blade, pulling at the muscles and skin. Deep burns that had healed into a cluster of red-tinged skin. Injuries he had gained before his time at the agency.

"I'm sorry you got stuck with babysitting duty, by the way."

[recitedemise]

It's comfortable. With Charles, he's discovering that most things are. It's a bit like reading by a fire or slipping into pjs after a harrowing sort of day. Curiously, his ristretto slips tender and sweetened on his palate. Huffing a laugh, Gale's rather inclined to blame it on him.

"And I've the creeping suspicion that you believe me a coy man. Last I checked, it isn't exactly much of a stone's throw from subtle, is it?" he quips back in kind. "Don't misunderstand me. Had I the mind to prove you wrong, you would do a considerable deal more than suspect my motives." He's too smart to trifle with a play at dense, after all! "In fact, I imagine you'd would know it beyond a shadow of a doubt."

And Gale's right. He's but a man of intention. He's bold, voracious, and had fallen where he's fallen for his goddamned zealotry. Charles' subtlety's more nurtured, but a round of the royal game as he bides himself his time. Thoughtfully, Gale tongues at his gums to taste his coffee's rich acidity. In comparison, all the world knows of his fierce grandiosity.

And yet... "I don't expect praise," he continues. Oh? "Despite what you may believe, I find they land sweeter when handed freely as opposed to — I don't know. Being wrenched out of you alongside your teeth." Gale leans back a little, something utterly revealing in the slope of his shoulders. Kindness isn't something he's seen much, is it? Eyes crinkling, he schools back his features with that teasing veneer. "Besides, it can't be that difficult to find something worth flattering me for. It's better it comes naturally."

a declaration so matter-of-fact it only just conceals that charles finds himself a little flustered, too. he is being straightforward in a way he rarely affords himself, a directness that's for gale's benefit more than his own. perhaps that's what it is.

                   his response follows so quickly as to leave no room for doubt -- this to aid them both. ❝ no. though i suspect in your case it's not so much a quest for answers but a quest to prove me wrong. all i ask is that you acknowledge your own bias. ❞

                   the accusation, despite its dry delivery, is not genuine, of course. charles understands the need to question intimately, much like he understands suspecting unsavoury motives behind promises which sound too good to be true. it is a mistrust which marks them both as survivors. even without ever having openly addressed it, this counts for a lot, as far as charles is concerned.

                   ❝ i don't appreciate having my judgement questioned so brazenly, you see. ❞ deliberately snooty as he lifts his cup of tea. just in time to hide the wry curve of a smile. ❝ or else if this is your attempt at fishing for compliments, you are being woefully unsubtle about it. ❞

[gunmetalgrey]

For @rvolving

Location: MI6 HQ

Verse: Dirty Business

“Alright— before you throw a shit fit, it’s not that broken.”

She was comfortable behind his desk, leant back in his chair with her boots resting in the edge of his desk. If she was going to have to deliver bad news (and the sad carcass of the latest toy he had sent her off with) it was better to do so with confidence. She’d had a warning before about giving Q branch the respect and credit they fully deserved. It wasn’t her fault every piece of smart tech she seemed to touch just… disintegrated. But running this one over with a 4x4 was a bit like overkill.

“I’ve seen you fix worse. Think of it as like a brain teaser kind of thing?”