#volo makes me SICK (positively)

[claitea]

some people are taking the fact that choosing "love for pokemon" as a topic in volo trainer's lodge interactions gets you the lowest points is a sign that volo actually hates his pokemon and is tricking them. but i think thats not the whole truth

first off, the whole thing with n. already talked abt it, n doesn't lie, n believes pokemon don't lie, i think you can trust the pokemon whisperer on this one

second, Rei is a topic that gets you the most points but volo hates that guy. points dont necessarily correlate to what the character likes, its what they find interesting. volo puts a lot of focus on gathering info and of course he's going to want to know more about one of his biggest enemies. this info is useful to him. he doesn't need to talk about loving pokemon, that's not relevant to his plans.

third, one of volo's friendship evos is Lucario. lucario can sense auras. it can definitely tell what volo's true intentions are, it Can't fall for fake affection. remember that volo is an untrusting person who thinks everyone should be used before they can use him, of course he can't say outright that he grew attached to what are meant to be his tools. he's in denial. think silver and cyrus with their friendship evos.

volo being reluctant to talk about love for pokemon when he clearly does makes him way more interesting. if volo didn't love his togepi truly, then he wouldn't need to have a photo of the both of them in jubilife village's photography studio, nor would he need to carry the little thing in the crook of his arm like a baby. he could just keep her in her poke ball. but he coddles her instead. pokemon are loyal, he probably doesn't need to go to those lengths to ensure she follows him but he does anyway.

[splattermouth]

Adaman for the ask meme!

ADAMAAAN ive come around to him a lot, compared to when i first played thru pla. 

(Also mind you its been a while since ive played and i took iridas route over adamans so i dont know. Every little detail about him. But i like him <3)

favorite thing about them: he’s so fucking funny, i love that hes like the straight man of hisui. Adaman is so fucking normal (genuine), and literally everyone else around him has like a secret bit they have to commit to or theyll die. And like he just has to deal w it. Like all of it. Everyone’s nonsense all the time. You can tell he’s so tired and he’s just trying to keep it together

Also obligatory, but his design is soo fucking killer. Ive only recently actually sat down to draw him n hes just so fun. So well shaped. I like irida’s design on its own a lot, but like compared to adaman? they did her so dirty.

least favorite thing about them: I WISH WE GOT MORE OF A BACKSTORY WITH HIM UGGH i hate to compare him to Irida sm here, but she got like. A very clear story of struggling to accept her new position as clan leader after being abruptly shoved into it. Of the rest of her clan either having insanely high expectations for her, or in Palina’s case, feeling like she didn’t deserve the position.

I get Adaman’s whole thing was Supposed to be that he struggled to earn respect from the rest of the Diamond Clan until Dialga outright Possessed him (which that part is fucking sick. For the record), but i wish they just made it more apparent that. That’s What was supposed to be happening lol. 

Because idk, at least to me, definitely the rest of the clan members were kinda bratty, but i never got the impression they were that way specifically Because they thought Adaman was a weak leader, you know? I didn’t even like realize that’s what was supposed to be happening until like. Reading a few other posts abt Adaman’s position in the story dhdfhgkg Good and interesting ideas w his arc just poor and kinda rushed execution imo!!

favorite line: that one fucking line @ irida towards the end of the main game that was like. ‘I don’t think our rivalry is a Diamond and Pearl Clan thing. I think it’s just a You and I thing.’

lives in my brain.

brOTP: for the love of god i need him and irida to be friends that fucking hate each other.

They are at each others throats over Everything, they will argue Everything just for the sake of arguing, if they every agree w each other on any matter they will both collapse on the spot. They are so sick of each other, but also they are best buddies and no one knows them like They know the other. It’s so fun…

OTP: AH im sorry he’s very aro to me. Both bc I don’t think there’s rly a lot of ppl he could be shipped with anyway, but also he does not strike me as someone who has a romantic interest in. like anyone.

He strikes me as a chaste bisexual man who has never felt an ounce of infatuation for another person in his life. He’s just very buddy-buddy w a lot of people, and he’s happy w that <3

nOTP: so i wouldnt say its a notp bc i dont like. vehemently Hate it, and i think there Could be potential. but im sorry, appraisalshipping makes me kinda :/ a fair amount of the time.

Some stuff is cute, yeah, but most of it is just reeks of ‘i only watch/read/play things for shipping and specifically to ship gay prettyboy twinks’ to me. Adaman and Volo have maybe had all of five lines w each other.

I think there could genuinely be something cool to explore there, like contrasting just how immediately trusting Adaman appears to be of Volo? Compared to Irida who calls Volo's bluff right off the bat for being way too friendly w the protag to be completely genuine. With Adaman just tending to be a more open and friendly person than Irida. Adaman putting his faith in someone he absolutely Should Not just because hey! Adaman’s just a nice person like that! He's not gonna be mean to this guy he just met just bc he's a little overeager! But like god knows no one has any interest exploring That dynamic lmao.

anyway if you ship like adaman/akari im legally allowed to break all of your fingers, slowly and individually

random headcanon: I think he should be like 5’5” at most. He’s short and he’s fat i know this in my heart of hearts.

Also despite always talking about utilizing the time he has to the fullest, he doesn’t strike me as someone that pushes himself or other ppl to constantly be Doing and Accomplishing things, so much as he tries to make every moment meaningful and wants others to do the same. I don’t think he’s all that headstrong as some people may describe him, and i dont think he’d necessarily be someone that thinks like. Taking a nap is a cardinal sin. I think he just wants people to put their limited time on this world to something that matters to them rather than petty bullshit (like arguing w the pearl clan sdhk).

ALSO also less an adaman specific headcanon, but i do personally like to think most of the diamond clan are family, or at least all the main members we see. I know hes canonically brother to melli and mai i think? But i think theyre all one big dysfunctional family and theyre why iscan never leaves the coastlands to visit anymore.

unpopular opinion: i dont think hes boring sorry!! Im guilty of think this at first as well tbf but MAN. going back to the what i dont like abt him thing. Knowing now thats what his whole character arc is supposed to be just makes me :(. He wants to be a good leader and he loves his friends and family a lot and takes such good care of them and they literally like. Do not care until dialga outright tells them to take its little thrall seriously for once. Man. man. 

song i associate with them: DHGJKDFH Animal Collective Merriweather Post Pavilion on main. My Girls feels very adaman-core.

favorite picture of them: So theres like zero actual canon art of him outside of just ingame screenshots but i do like this breezy lil adaman here. annoyed…

[thestalkerbunny]

TSB Plays Legends Arceus Part 33

.....Okay that’s some heavy words of wisdom. Good bye Cyllene. I left a Wurmple in your desk drawer as a gift.

We take a moment for a brief intermission.

....What....

In the FUCKERY is that?

Fucking CHRIST.

(I did end up catching it because that was just so fucking cool and such an interesting detail the game and the Magikarp lore in general.)

BACK TO OUR DAILY PROVIDED NONSENSE.

....I caught a Garyados. I....It was flying 90ft in the air. It was so SICK.

I can see, I have EYES.

I have been made aware, tiny cowboy.

What are you implying, Cowboy-I’ve been trying to help with this bullshit. Maybe YOU should do something for once.

That’s WHAT I THOUGHT.

Irida is gonna be in a difficult position regardless.

....Do you at least have a GUN I could borrow?

Yeah provided another garyados doesn’t fucking yeet itself into the sky.

YEAH WE GET IT, SKY SCARY.

Lady, I’ve already got anxiety over this shit in general, you’re not HELPING.

Well Kamando decided to BLAME me in regards to this because it’s just easy and convenient to peg the outsider with the blame.

YEAH CAUSE I DON’T HAVE AN ANSWER. I’VE RUN OUT OF ANSWERS. I KNOW AS MUCH AS YOU FUCKERs.

NOPE. Xenophobia got too thick for me. I live outside now. I’m off the grid. I shredded my credit cards.

*inhales* YEAH I FIGURED. Nobody wants to touch the dirty outsider.

YEAH. I FIGURED. Tell Melli I put a Wurmple in his hut. I put a lot of wurmples in a lot of people’s places of rest-it’s gonna make for an INTERESTING spring when they pupate.

Time also causes wounds to decay and rot when untreated.

*sigh.*

This is fucking bullshit.

I wanna go home. I was supposed to watch Stranger Things Season 4. Our Flag Means Death just got renewed. They just released footage of LECHONK. My skin looks terrible, I haven’t had a proper bath in ages cause soap is just fucking LYE and harsh as fuck, I’m TIRED of potato mochi

This is stupid. Really really stupid.

What is SCREAMING at me, I am LAMENTING.

Ah.

BABY.

You’re a baby.....

I like you baby.

You’re a good baby, you’re not a hateful weird xenophobe who is gonna blame me for this shit.

You’re probably colorblind  and you don’t even NOTICE the sky going all pixely and RED.

Okay bye bye baby, I love you sweetie awww looket them.

Shinx are always so cute. No wonder they’re Sinnoh’s top ranked pokemon pet.

....I miss my old pokemon.

Shit, I hope someone’s FEEDING ‘em. And someone at least is giving Atari his meds. Because uh. Those things don’t go in the MOUTH and he needs a towel hood and 3 people preferably ONE with a VET Doctorate to admister ‘em.

Oh GREAT.

It’s the end of the WORLD and I’m somehow STUCK WITH YOU. God, not even BEEDLE from BOTW doesn’t hound and follow me around like you do.

And I was looking to NOT be found by you. I NEVER want to be found by you, you weirdo.

I have done. ZERO trade with you and your merchant guild. Like. Actual literal ZERO. I pushed all my time and money into pokeballs because I go thru shit like tylenonal on my period.

AH. So you heard Kamando is fucking crazy blaming me.

I get it, you’re a GOSSIP hound.

.....I don’t like how you’re TALKING to me like this, it makes it sound like you’re trying corral me into a weird situational living arrangement with you that I am NOT into.

Don’t bother, I plan to just fuck off the Coastland where there’s a ship wreck. I plan to make a raft and make my way to Galar, thank you very much.

What part of ‘please go away’ translates to ‘please-continue BOTHERING me.’

I am NOT A MAREEP. Don’t HERD me places, I HATE that.

AND YET IM NOT BEGGING NOR CHOOSING, I JUST WANT YOU TO LEAVE, WEIRDO.

Oop.

H....Hewwo?

Cog...Cogita?

Volo please introduce me to your 10 superior.

Mommy-SORRY.

Mommy-SORRY.

MOMMY-GODDAMIT.

-inahles-

Ma’m.

[borisbubbles]

ESC 2019 Preshow #09

09. ITALY Mahmood - “Soldi” Autoqualifier

👏SOL 👏 DI 👏 SOL👏 DI 👏

ENTRY ANALYSIS

Much like Jonida, Mahmood sort of slipped for me when I grew more attached to other songs, but that does not mean he’s not fucking amazing! I, too, fell in love with “Soldi” on first listen when I noticed the lyrics rhymed “Ramadan” with “Jackie Chan”. 😍 😍 😍 😍. 

Other amazing things about “Soldi” include: the 👏 use 👏 of 👏 clapping 👏 as 👏 punctuation 👏, the ~Iconic~ lines in Arabic during the middle eight and the wonderful message. It was the FIRST SONG IN THIS YEAR WHICH MADE ME SHED A TEAR!!!  😭😭😭 I don’t know how or why, but I listened to the song with translated lyrics and it just *clicked* for me. I WAS LYING SICK IN BED WITH THE FLU, OKAY. Forgive me my momentary weakness!!!

So is it any wonder “Soldi” was greeted with near-unanimous critical acclaim and support? No, of course not. It’s a fantastic song and 100% deserved to win San Remo!

...

okay, so San Remo...  I did *NOT* watch it but I’m aware of Irama, Loredana and Simone, so consider those the reps if I had bothered with an NF corner. Ideal Husband Material, Blue-haired Rocker Hag and Random Dude Who Reads Poetry (not sings. reads.) respectively <3

Slated to win San Remo this year was Ultimo, who entered San Remo with some pretentious piano ballad called “I tuoi particulari” which as the name implies was particularly boring. God what a yawnfest. However, it as also the audience favourite somehow? Him?

So, the juries marked it down just enough so ‘Soldi’ won instead because again, BORING don’t work. Ultimo, instead of being like “well I lost, but oh well, I wasn’t going to Eurovision anyway*”, showed his true Salvador colours by throwing a temper tantrum on social media and spent the entire press conference uglysobbing about how quality was denied (his own words! He refered to *himself* as quality!).

(*he said he would never do Eurovision because he believes it is Eurovision is beneath him 😬)  Oh and some right-wing Forza politicians chimed with their usual drivel that Mahmood was unfit to represent Italy because Mahmood is gay & half-arabic while Italy is a vafanculo blob of fragile masculinity which can only be properly represented by drug-riggen, ugly-tattoo’d brats. Guess what? WE 👏 DON’T👏 CARE. 👏 FOR YOUR 👏 MODERN TIME 👏 PREACHIN’  👏 FORTUNATELY, Mahmood agreed to do ESC (after a week long thinking period lol) and all was well in this world . 👏 ANOTHER VICTORY FOR QUALITY  👏

Edit note: it has become apparent that my brash and snarky assesment was largely malinformed, but user @wingednerdydude​  provided a pretty detailed summation of the situation. 

It’s a quite long explanation I’ll put a tl;dr to appease the fans:  Ultimo did indeed not take the loss well, but the media also took an off-hand comment he made about Mahmood out of context and he retaliated, which led a lot of a unnecessary drama and mutual poo-slinging. It’s not just the ESC fans that overdramatize shit, who knew. 

For those who want to read it:

Ultimo never insulted Mahmood or said one single bad thing about him or that his song was better than Soldi, let's make this clear from the start. It's also true that he never even said anything complimenting him or his song. Mahmood actually said he never spoke to him nor heard from him in any way. The only thing Ultimo ever said is that he is happy for Mahmood and his success, that's it. If Ultimo really did compliment him then I never read or watched such interview

The mess during Sanremo's press conference blew up right when Ultimo said he was happy for (I'm quoting) "the other ragazzo, Mahmood". Ragazzo is a really neutral term in Italian, it just means young man, I wouldn't know how to traslate it. The journalists found it "insulting" for some weird reason (Mahmood actually said he thinks it's a totally okay term) and said Ultimo was disrespecting him. More context: Ultimo clearly was disappointed about his 2nd place

The press knew it and since the moment he entered the press room they literally started rubbing his missed victory in his face and kept asking him "yeah, but don't you think you should have won?". Ultimo eventually got pissed like mad and rightfully so. They were literally trying to make him lose his temper because they knew he had a bad character and was disappointed. They wanted a scoop and they got it.

Ultimo told the journalists that they were just trying to get an article out of it and that any thing he would say, they would turn it into something else. Then he said (quoting) "I'm fucking done with you". Boom, all of the press room went crazy and started throwing insults at him (sore loser, shit, bastard, ungrateful etc...). At some point Mahmood entered the room and the situation got chill again. By the way, look at the Il Volo guys while he speaks. They agreed.

Which takes us to the next step: why did Ultimo explode like that? I'll get ther: the day after there was a tv program the contestants were supposed to take part in. Ultimo didn't show up. It was full of journalists who obviously insulted him, they showed the clip of Ultimo insulting the press. One of the journalists though, she gave no fucks and just said the things as they were: and that is, the press insulted him. Not only after Ultimo's insults, but also earlier.

Ultimo wasn't the only artist who got insulted: the guys from Il Volo were too, during their performance and while the results were being announced (everyone cheered cause they hadn't won). The journalist says there were clips of it. Ups, looks like they "couldn't show them". Funny how they found Ultimo insulting journalists, but not the opposite. And those videos exist. In particular, there was a video of Ultimo being insulted by press, days before

There were a lot of talks, clickbaity articles written etc... Ultimo tried speaking in a video he posted and told his point of view. Now, mind you, I don't agree with some of the stuff he said. He said that he was sad about the whole thing and that it had been blown out of proportion, his words twisted to show him like the bad guy. And this is true if you read what I wrote. About the results: he was pissed because he had won the televote by a very large margin but lost.

Here I think he was really wrong, cause those are the rules, jury and televote results add up to the final result, it's maths. It may be disappointing, but that's how it is. Still, he was sad that people had to PAY to vote and their votes didn't matter in the end to choose the actual winner. Debatable. But he did make a good point about one thing: the jury votes are made of the votes of some experts (they're like 10 and actually often are people with no music knowledge)

 And the rest of the jury votes are journalists. Now, wait a second: the same journalists who threw personal insults at him and Il Volo for no reason if not a personal anthipathy were the ones deciding if they could win or not. Now this is interesting, cause the jury is supposed to be unbiased. His complaining about this is just right in my opinion, something should have been done about it (journalists faced no consequences for their insults to contestants).

This is where the whole thing ended. Ultimo just asked not to speak about it again, Sanremo's week has now well passed and everyone moved on, so that's literally all. I hope I was of some help to better understand the situation. And please guys, no fighting, let's just enjoy Mahmood's song.

 AND LET US NEVER SPEAK OF HIM EVER AGAIN!!!!!! ~moving on~

Autoqualifier Odds: very good

The most important thing one has to take away from “Soldi” is that it’s a fucking excellent song. There’s a reason it received near-universal critical acclaim from all sources.  

But, as the saying goes, it’s not the song but what you do with it. Mahmood is making great ~live performance progress~ as more pre-parties are showing his growing expertise, but at the same time I feel like everyone has sort of forgotten about him as a potential winner? Actually my friends posited the idea that Mahmood might be a Jamala-esque winner (by finishing second in both jury AND televote) and I think that is an intriguing possibility we should consider! If Duncan somehow doesn’t come through (and he won’t because Expected Winner’s Curse), it will be Mahmood who shall pick up the pieces and win instead. (unless the audience wants to go for the novelty act again, in which case Hatari or Bilal will win) I recognize that Mahmood could go down the usual Italy trajectory and be sandbagged by juries into a mid top 10 placement, I guess. I don’t want to get my hopes up and overrate his odds like I did with Gabbani. Even under the worst circumstance, Mahmood is definitely finishing somewhere in the top 10 though, as all Italian men (fragile or not) do. 

Projected placement: 1st-8th in the Grand Final.

Link to the masterpost

[cloubleoh]

te volo

in which bond and q do fieldwork, or, the aftermath of q sleeping with bond and it's everything he's ever dreamed of, and then bond leaves and he still has to get up and go to work the next day

rated m ♛ 4.6k words ♛ mentions of sex ♛ ao3 link

There’s an incessant pinging noise in Q’s right ear and he has half a mind to leave Bond’s call unanswered, but he taps the comm anyway and sighs heavily as the doors to the lift slide shut and he slumps against the wall, letting his bags drop to the floor.

“Please, 007, it’s been a terribly long flight and I’d really like to find my room and have a rest.”

He can hear Bond chuckling on the other end, and Q has half a mind to tell the agent to sod off before Bond finally speaks. “And what’s the harm in having a quick chat with a colleague?”

“You know bloody well what the harm is. I’ve spent four hours on a cramped, rattling coach seat and several more after that on a bus that smelt horribly of manure, I’ve half a mind to castrate M once we’ve returned for lacking the foresight to alert me sooner about being assigned to fieldwork so I could book myself proper transportation, and you’re asking me if I want to have a chat.”

Bond’s responding laughter is enough to force Q to cut the connection with an indignant huff, and Bond’s already pinging him again before the lift doors can even open to Q’s floor. Q waits through one, two, three blips then answers with a reluctant groan.

“Apologies, Q, I wasn’t aware you’d had such a rough time coming in.”

“You wouldn’t, would you, not from your first-class seat and chauffeured drive into town. I should have switched out seating arrangements and made you sit with the lambs.” The only reason Q hasn’t hung up on Bond again is because his hands are full with luggage as he limps down the hall to his room and he cannot tap twice at the device in his ear to shut Bond up for five bloody seconds. He notes to himself, mentally, that he’ll have to work on voice-controlled comms when he gets back to Q-Branch. For now, he squints through smudged lenses for the placard that directs him to room towards the end of a long and winding hallway.

“Oh, they were lambs now, were they?

“Yes, 007, lambs, and I dare say I don’t need to elaborate.”

Q drops his bags again and rummages in his pockets for the room key before giving it a vehement swipe through the card reader and nudging the door open with his foot. The large windows drawn with blackout curtains and the plush couch in the sitting room is a welcome sight, and Q barely gives a thought to where he’s tossing his bags before he’s shrugged off his coat and collapses onto the couch.

“Well then, perhaps you should make yourself comfortable while I go have a look ‘round,” Bond says finally after Q has settled in to a mostly comfortable sprawled position along the length of the couch. Q finds himself nodding before he realizes Bond can’t see a nod over the comm, and he mumbles a very drowsy mmhm in response.

Even after all the trouble Q had been through to get to Savona, some part of him had to admit it felt good to get out of Six once in a while, breathe in different air and sleep in a ridiculously posh hotel room that was nothing like his homely flat back in London. Q wonders, idly, if this is what it’s always like for his agents.

“I’d join you but I’m afraid I’m much too tired to extract myself from this rather comfortable couch. You’ll have to go it alone, I’m afraid.”

“That’s alright,” Bond replies, “I’m quite used to doing these things without a Quartermaster in my ear, you know.”

“Says the one with the better room and the more comfortable couch.”

“That’s hardly my fault, I’m not the one that booked it, am I?”

“Cheeky bastard,” Q smiles, rather tiredly. It’s quite a few minutes later, after Q has already closed his eyes and has barely started to drift off before he speaks again. “007, I don’t suppose…”

“Yes?”

Q squeezes his eyes tight and presses his lips together in a flat line, turning the words over and over in his head. Don’t, you know you can’t, he’s not going to, there’s no bloody point—

It’s a purely selfish request, one Q cannot help but ask, now that they are so far away from Six, and in the end it just slips out unintended. “I don’t suppose…you’d see me off to bed, would you?”

Bond falls silent in a way that Q almost thinks he’s pulled out his comm, but when Bond does finally speak, Q’s heart sinks into his shoes.

“I should be going. Might as well scope the place out before tomorrow.”

“…yes, of course. I’ll leave you to that, then.”

Q almost doesn’t hear the line fall silent, but when he’s sure Bond is no longer listening Q allows himself a choked, almost angry sob as he scrubs a hand down his face, kicking out in frustration at the arm of the couch before growing still. Of course he doesn’t, why would he, he’s James bloody Bond and you can’t get him out of your head—

It was one time, dammit, he let himself go for one time, and you let him do it—

Q’s limbs suddenly feel encased in lead, and he no longer has the strength to do anything but sink further into the couch and tuck his head into the divot of a throw pillow. He wants to seek Bond out, but the fight is gone from his bones, and before he can even think to remove his glasses, Q succumbs to sleep.

               He awakes from a fitful slumber long after the sun has set to voices in his right ear, and it faintly occurs to Q that Bond must have forgotten to remove his comm after Q had gone to bed. Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, Q fumbles around in the dark for the lampswitch and opens his mouth to tell Bond to shut off his damn earwig, some people are trying to get some shut-eye, when he hears something that chills his blood ice-cold.

There’s a woman in the room with Bond.

Q can hear her voice, soft and lilting, every flirtatious word she whispers to Bond, and then Bond himself replying in turn, voice suddenly very husky and low in a way that’s got Q stumbling over his feet and collapsing onto the floor, nearly knocking into the lamp on the way down.

Q’s fingers curl into the loose carpet fibers and the wretched feeling in the pit of his stomach returns as Bond whispers lowly in the woman’s ear just how he plans to fuck her, and it shouldn’t shock him, really, Q’s heard this routine many times before today without hardly batting an eye. Everyone knew Bond has sex for information, but this time, this time Bond’s words have Q feeling as if he’s going to be sick.

In his small, cluttered flat, amidst tangled bedsheets and a tossed duvet, Bond had breathed the same lines in his ear too, and it hadn’t taken but a fraction of a heartbeat for Q to surrender to what he’d wanted, yearned for months.

God, what an utter fool he’d been.

He can hear Bond maneuvering the woman onto a bed, letting out a low growl as he does so, and Q’s cock traitorously throbs in response. It’s all Q can do to bite his lip and keep silent as Bond strips her, then claims her. He presses his head against the carpet and chances a ragged, shaky breath, trying very hard not to rut into the floor. Thankfully Bond doesn’t seem to notice, as he’s currently very engrossed in taking the woman apart, piece by piece, in words Q almost knows by heart.

Q could leave the connection open, listen to the way Bond breathes and moves against the sheets, and pretend there isn’t a woman beneath him. He could close his eyes and drift back to that evening he’d found Bond in his flat, bleeding out in the bath, and afterwards how Bond had pulled Q into a searing kiss that tasted heavily of scotch. In his right ear, Bond moans and Q is inexplicably harder than he’s been in months, and he almost gives in to the pure want that’s coursing through his veins to knead himself through his trousers.

Instead, Q rips the comm from his ear and throws it across the room, uncaring if it breaks as the earpiece smacks against the wall with a sharp clack. He storms out, pretends that Bond isn’t fucking someone three doors down from him, and his feet carry him all the way to the bar where he orders a glass of scotch, and another, and yet another still, downing them until his throat burns of it and he can no longer remember the sound of the woman in his ear, only the intoxicating taste of Bond’s lips against his own.

               Q finally gets to see the woman the following day, thankfully at a different bar than the one he’d drank at the night before. She’s tall and slender, wearing a deep red dress with a plunging neckline, one that’s got several men turning their heads in her direction as she boldly slides into the stool next to his.

“You are the Quartermaster, correct?”

Q’s grip on his own glass tightens, annoyed with how loudly she’s just announced to the whole sodding world his identity. It does nothing to help the vestiges of a hangover that pounds behind his eyes, though he greets her with an easy smile anyway, just to keep up appearances. The only reason Q is still in the same room is because she has information that MI6 is desperate to get its hands on, and Q is the only one able to crack it.

“Quentin,” he offers, reaching out to shake her hand.

“Nice to meet you,” the woman replies, and she gives her own name, though whether it is from the din of the people around him or from Bond’s voice in his ear, Q does not hear it and does not ask for it again. Like his own given name, hers is almost assuredly fake. Q will know this woman, this temporary armistice for all of a few days, and then she will disappear off the map as if she had never existed to begin with. There is no point to committing such a name and a face to memory, not when she still smells of Bond’s expensive cologne.

What he does do is offer her a drink, one she gladly accepts.

“I’ve heard a lot about you from Mister Bond,” she says once the drink is in her hands, and Q fights the urge to roll his eyes.

“I’m sure it’s all been quite bog standard, that I’m here to hack your employer’s files and do quite a few other computer-y things that would take far too long to explain.”

The woman’s responding laugh is sharp, far too loud for his throbbing headache that had nearly gone away but is now steadily growing worse. Q isn’t sure if it’s her fault or the alcohol this time around. “Yes, it was something like that. ‘Youngest Quartermaster to join the ranks of Six,’ was the phrase he used, I believe.”

“Youth is no guarantee of innovation,” Q finds himself echoing before he’s realized it, and he punishes himself with another sip of his drink. Were Bond here, he’d have quirked his lips into a knowing grin and that smartass twinkle in his eye, just enough to set Q off but nothing terribly abrasive. But Bond is not here, and the private joke does nothing to soothe Q’s rattled nerves.

“Stealing my lines are you now, Q? I’m afraid that won’t work on her, though I can see why she’d be keeping you from finding our target for me. She is terribly easy on the eyes.”

Bond’s voice snaps Q out of his thoughts and he rubs his eyes, realizing Bond must have been speaking to him for ages now and he’d hardly noticed. “I’m sorry?”

“The target,” Bond repeats. “Where is he?”

“I’m looking for him now,” Q replies, focus now detouring to the mobile in his lap, rapidly swiping through security camera feeds before he stops on a wide angle shot of several blackjack tables. Q spots their target seated at the largest table, thankfully in Q’s direct line of sight from the bar. “Aha, found him.”

“A little more specific, Q.”

“Directly across from the bar, about three rows back. And if this woefully shoddy image is anything to go on, he’s playing a losing game. You should have no difficulty in gaining the upper hand.”

“Mm, if that’s the case, I might even have enough time to cash in my winnings and buy a drink for Madame—”

“Focus, 007,” Q reprimands. He tells himself he’s cut Bond off to keep him on track, and not because of the woman. “I will buy the drinks, and you must do your job of winning at playing cards.”

He can hear a soft chuckle on the other end of the comm as Bond enters the line of sight of Q’s video feed. “You should be careful, Q. You know what happens if you buy a pretty girl an expensive drink.”

No, I wouldn’t Q thinks and doesn’t say. “I’ll have to keep that in mind for when I spot someone on the cameras that catches my eye.”

Q watches as the Bond on his phone scans the area for surveillance before looking directly up into the camera Q is controlling, locking eyes with it and winking. Q splutters, nearly dropping his phone, and before Q can hiss out a curse or two Bond has already slipped on his impassive mask for the evening, polished and suave and approaches the tables, waiting for the game to end before sliding into an empty seat directly across from their target. Damn him.

“Is he good at cards?” the woman asks, and Q takes a moment to compose himself before looking up from his lap and pocketing his phone for now.

“Terribly good. If it weren’t for the fact that he always comes back with tenfold what we give him in allowances, my employers would have had his head on a silver platter years ago.”

She laughs as if Q’s little joke is the funniest thing she’s heard in years. “Good. He should easily gain the attention of my employer, then.”

“That does tend to be his modus operandi,” Q replies, more to himself than Bond’s mark.

The woman takes a sip of her drink and sizes Q up for a long moment before speaking again. "So, tell me. How long have you two been involved?"

Q nearly chokes on his drink and it takes him more than a few moments to recover. Several choice words fly through his head in rapid succession, all of which Q is sorely tempted to bite out, though he holds his tongue. It wouldn't do to blow the whole mission over a stray comment. Yes, we've fucked, if that's what you're implying, and I don't believe who I choose to sleep with is any of your bloody business.

“I’m sorry, what?”

The woman smiles at him and regards Q with eyes that almost seem to glint in the muted light of the bar. “You speak to him with such an ease one only finds in a partner. Though, if I may be frank with you, Quentin—”

Oh please, do Q almost spits out, instead choosing to grasp his glass tighter still.

“—I hadn’t guessed he’d brought someone with him. From what I’ve gathered, Mister Bond doesn’t…strike me as one to settle down, you know?”

While her question hardly dignifies a response, Q chooses to give the only one he knows best, in as steady as voice as possible given the circumstances. "I don’t know what you’re talking about. I am simply his Quartermaster, and nothing more," he says, eventually. His glasses have slipped and Q takes a moment to push them back up, stealing a quick glance at Bond, who seems to be doing very well for himself at the blackjack table. He can hear the faint voice of the dealer, the disgruntled mutterings of Bond’s target, and Bond himself in his right ear, and while normally it would be a comforting distraction Q finds himself on edge, his whole body thrumming with a nervous energy he rarely gets out in the field.

The scent of Bond’s cologne on the woman is overpowering now and Q licks his lips, fighting the urge to excuse himself to the bathroom to splash ice water on his face until the burning heat inside him bleeds out.

His gaze now lingers on Bond's hands as they slide cards across the green velvet of the table, strong, calloused and sure. He remembers those hands on his own body, once, reverently mapping out the planes and dips of his skin before cupping his arse roughly enough to leave bruises that lasted for days. Then, Bond’s hands were still marred with blood that the bathwater hadn’t completely washed away, leaving behind red stains on the pale expanses of Q’s skin, a counterpart to the red lines Q would score down Bond’s back. Hands that coaxed soft, pliant moans from his mouth, words he daren’t utter anywhere else, to anyone else. Q finally swallows hard, realizing he has lingered too long, and he tears his eyes away and turns back to the woman beside him.

Q is not here to stare after Bond, to wonder about his agent and the company he chooses to keep. His task tonight is to look after Bond's mark, and make sure no harm is to come of her, reluctant though he may be. This, and nothing more.

"I see," the woman replies. She regards Q with a strange, pointed look, before returning to her drink. "Though perhaps Mister Bond doesn't think of you that way."

               Miraculously, the mission hadn’t gone pear-shaped this time around. Bond had snapped a man’s neck inside his room with very little fanfare, and before casino security could be alerted Q had already erased the incriminating footage with a few swift keystrokes. He was almost disappointed Bond hadn’t gotten to test out the modifications he’d made to the agent’s Walther, though perhaps it was for the best that the weapon was going to make it home in one piece.

“Job well done, 007, I really must commend you this time for managing to not expend a single bullet. Q Branch will be so pleased with your efforts this time ‘round.”

“Cheeky today, aren’t we?” Bond says in turn, and Q can almost imagine the man is smiling on the other end of the comm.

“And the files? While you might have come here just for the thrill of killing a man I still have some ends left to tie up.”

“She’s got them transferring to a thumb drive now,” Bond replies. Q sags a little in relief, knowing their target hadn’t been given the chance to destroy the hard drive. In the end, the distraction of the woman had proved just enough for Bond to slip into the room and make sure that this was where the man would breathe his last. After all, there’s only so much one can do with a drive that’s been ripped out of the chassis of a laptop and been bludgeoned half to death. What would have become months of pulling overtime on data recovery had instantly been narrowed down to days, maybe hours if he was lucky.

“At this rate we might even catch our scheduled flight back to London.”

Q can almost hear the wry smile in Bond’s voice when he replies with a curt, “Why Q, you wound me, you know I’ve taken great care to improve my punctuality issues.”

“Mm, your efforts have been admirable but I’m sure there’s quite a bit of working room on that front.”

“Will you two stop going at it like old biddies and do something with this damn body?!”

The woman’s sudden interjection startles Q into silence, and after a moment’s pause he hears Bond shifting around, grunting as he hoists what Q can only assume to be the target’s dead body off the floor. There’s more shuffling, the sound of a door being slid open, and, oh no he couldn’t possibly—

“007, are you putting that in a closet?”

“Well there’s no bloody other place for it,” Bond huffs, “If you’ve got any better ideas why don’t you come down here and do it yourself?”

“I’d rather not, thank you. After all, I’m only here for tech support.”

Bond swears under his breath and goes back to attempting to shove the body of his target into the small linen closet, and Q tries to ignore the hot tingles racing down his spine at the gruff strain of Bond’s voice under duress.

               As agreed upon, Q meets her by the Lucky Seven slot machine. It’s an ostentatious thing, gilded with shiny gold-colored plastic and enough flashing lights and bells to trigger a migraine, but deep enough into the stacks and just perfectly out of range of the three cameras that sweep the room. The woman is there waiting for him when Q arrives. The red dress is back, though not as prim and wrinkle-free as before. Q tries not to think about where the wrinkles came from, or where else the dress has been. Instead, he swallows and holds out his right hand, awaiting the exchange of information.

The woman reaches between her cleavage with slender fingers and pulls out a thumb drive before placing it gently in Q’s palm. “I believe this is rightfully yours now, Quartermaster, as my employer is no longer around to make any use of it.”

Q pockets the drive and gives the woman a curt nod. “Thank you. I trust all the information is there? I’d hate to contact you again. We at MI6 can be very…persistent.”

She nods, clearly unaffected by Q’s veiled threat. “Yes, all you need is on that drive. I cannot promise it is unencrypted, though from what I understand that shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

Q knows it’s meant to be a complement but he is done playing nice, done pretending to be Bond’s polite little boffin with the quips and the gadgets and the fancy computer. Now that Q has what he came for and is no longer bound by obligation, Q immediately says the most scathing thing he can think of. “Yes, I assume Bond charms every woman he meets into bed with tales of his Quartermaster’s hacking skills.”

The woman almost smiles at that, though her eyes grow narrow and flinty, a silent warning. “It’s unbecoming to harbor jealousy in the world of espionage, Quentin. Makes you lose your head, get your agents killed.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Q replies with a smirk, and though the woman gives him a knowing look she backs off. What Q doesn’t expect is for her expression to melt into something softer, and she steps closer, capturing his hands in her own and giving them a gentle squeeze. Q instinctively wants to pull away but the woman has captured him in a piercing gaze, one he finds he cannot look away from.

“Please,” she says, “for me. Look after your agent. He has…such lonely eyes, don’t you think?”

…what?

Q’s forehead wrinkles into confusion but the woman has yet to let go, so instead of pressing her further he gives a short nod, and the woman finally releases her grip on his hands. “Though I’ve enjoyed our time together, I’m afraid I must depart now. Please, enjoy your stay in Savona, Quartermaster.”

And with that, the woman in the red dress melts into the crowd and rows of slot machines, and is gone within seconds. Q supposes he could log into the security system at the casino and track her movements, watch her for a good long while and make sure she’s not going to compromise either of them, but he doesn’t. He’s spent the whole of this mission loathing the very air around her, the way she walks and talks and carries herself, but all that pent-up anger ebbs out of Q the moment the woman disappears, walking out of his and Bond’s life forever.

Q considers the woman’s words and wonders, briefly, if there’d ever been a Quartermaster that had lost an agent because of compromised attachments. Then, Q’s mind wanders to how many men and women alike had died because they got too close to Bond, seen things the agent had never meant for them to see, become too deeply embroiled into his life that it had killed them in the end.

Oh, bollocks Q thinks, what have I gotten myself into?

“Q.”

He feels a hand on his shoulder and Q whips around, startled, only to find Bond staring down at him, forehead knit into deep lines of concern.

“007?”

“I’d been calling after you for ages now. Our flight is in two hours, and we’d better get going before M starts thinking we’ve been delayed.”

Right, of course. The flight. Q gives Bond a tired smile and nods, letting out a shaky breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding in. “You’ve never been one to give into M’s whingeing, and I doubt you’re going to start now.”

“What were you thinking about, just now?” Bond asks suddenly, turning the entire conversation on its head and bringing Q’s mind to a stuttering halt. “I’ve never seen you that lost in thought before.”

“Oh, just all the hours of my life I’m going to get back, now that I don’t have to restore a banged-up hard drive this time around.

Bond makes an exasperated face. “You still resent me for that, don’t you?”

“All you double-oh agents think Q-Branch are magicians that can wave our hands at hard drives that’ve been beaten with a nightstick and kicked halfway ‘round London and poof, oh there comes that data M wants.”

“That was one bloody time, Q—”

“If you’d just learn to return everything in one piece—”

And just like that, they fall in step together, and it’s almost as if things are back the way they once were, before Q had pulled out the dental floss stitches from Bond’s skin as Bond bled permanent stains onto the floor of Q’s bathroom. It was ironic, Q had thought, that while the blood had washed out of his clothes, and his sheets, and his skin, he could never quite manage to get it up from the tiles, no matter how hard he’d scrubbed until his arms began to feel like overcooked noodles.

He senses Bond knows his answer was a lie, but thankfully Bond lets it go and doesn’t press further. Q doesn’t think he could deal with Bond knowing the truth, not now, not tomorrow, and possibly not ever.

Bond stops in front of the lift and turns to face Q. “I’ll be in my room. You can come collect me when you’ve finished packing.”

Q can’t help the smile that forms across his lips. “Is that a promise, 007?”

“Well,” Bond replies, matching Q’s widening grin, “what do you think?”

And maybe, Q thinks, just maybe, it is.

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[hannaharies]

RQ 4: Don't be such a possessive ass

We didn't talk for weeks. I ignored Cal as best as I could, but it is quiet more difficult than I thought. In two days he would marry Evangeline and the fact that we can't be together any longer hurts me more than I can explain. Of course he wasn't happy. Evangeline neither. They like each other, but they will never fall in love. Moreover, I feel sorry for Elane. She got really sick over the last weeks and doesn't even speak to Ptolemus. Queen Anabel decided that it would be better if they would live separate lives, so Volo Samos forced Evangeline to break up with her girlfriend.

And Cal broke up with me.

Now, I stand on a balcony at the Rift House. I can see the sea, forests and all the beauty nature produced. I close my eyes and listen to the sound of the wind. I can feel a storm on the sea, coming closer.

"Mare?" I am not surprised to hear Cal's voice. He tried to talk to me for days, but I cannot talk to him. It hurts too much.

"Can we talk?" he asks, stepping out on the balcony. I don't look at him. "Why should we? We don't have to talk." "We have," he replies, grabbing my hand. "Please listen to me, Mare." I look at him. His eyes are darker than before. Red. Dark red.

"Let me go..." I say, but my voice is weak. I can feel the tears in my eyes. I don't want him to see me cry. Not here. Not now.

"Mare..." he whispers. "I never wanted to hurt you. I love you."

I can only laugh at this sentence. "If you would really love me, you wouldn't have chosen the crown over me." I stare at him. "Over us, Tiberias."

"Mare, I had no chance..." "You had a chance. And with this decision, you destroyed us."

"Mare, I..."

"You destroyed us!"

Now, I couldn't hold back my tears. "You destroyed us! You destroyed everything we fought for! Did you hear me?! EVERYTHING!"

He stepped away, his eyes filled with tears. "I never wanted to make you unhappy. My brother left me nothing. You are everything. My everything."

My heart beats against my chest, so painful that I fear it could break. His beautiful eyes are on me, the one he seems to love.

Love...

A word, just a word, which could never explain the pain, the happiness and all the other feelings, which I feel right now. It's only a word...

"I love you, too," I whisper. "But I can... I can't..." I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a moment. I only could hear the wind, Cal doesn't even make a sound.

I open them and see that he looks at me. The hope in his eyes, the fear... He doesn't want to loose me, no matter what will happen. He loves me.

And I love him.

In this moment, we do the same. We step closer and kiss.

This feeling in my chest... it was something new. Not the love, I felt before. It was more than love. Much more.

It was like all the good memories, feelings and all the positive things I can imagine. Nothing has ever been this pure; this TRUE.

He looks at me, smiling like he never did before. "I will never leave you again," he says. "This is how it should be... and will."

I smile back. "Don't be such a possessive ass, Cal." He laughs and kisses me once more. We didn't notice that it began to rain, but it doesn't bother us.

We love each other. And that's all what really matters.