#misc verse

im ngl im usually very unconvinced by most "q has to go into the field"/"fake dating for the mission" aus bc im usually like. ok why wouldnt they send an agent or another tech guy to do that? whyd they put him at risk???? i find it hard to suspend my disbelief

but i saw this video which fried me and i was like ok im compelled by an au where q has to do a sensitive drop, for which he's the only person qualified/authorised to carry that equipment/info/whatever (a la vesper not being an agent but in the field bc shes the one allowed to have the cash). but then bond gets caught with q and bond is like fuck we cant let them think we're working together as spies. uhhh [takes off his clothes] [starts making out with q in the hotel room, sticks his hand down q's pants, etc]. q is like !!!! ok ??? and then the baddies break down the door and are like "oh shit you're not spies youre just gay lovers!!!!!!"

the intended mission was bond seducing some shady chick but oops her goons catch q doing the drop off. but dont worry mission still on bc shes always wanted to be a fag hag!!! so bond is now pretending that q is like. his big tech sugar daddy and bond is a ""travel writer"" who is "writing a memoir" (aka just hangs out at resorts on q's dime) (not untrue tbh). [q has left btw by this point. bonds pretending that it was just like. a weekend hookup or s/t. q lives in silicon valley and bond is full time in LA or whatever the lie is.]

so bond is hag fagging the baddie while q is on the comms trying to like. ask all the fruitiest 6rs what bond should say about shoes trying to help him out. and bond starts dropping actual Takes On Fashion and Queer Culture and q is like

FAMOUS LAST WORDS.     //     accepting.     //     @defectiveandproud

          CORRUPTION.

          she feels it whittle away at her form, taking her consciousness into its havoc-wreaking tendrils and tearing each particle from her ever-aching body. it burns, and for a second in time, the renegade feels what it’s like to be A MONSTER. and with every part of her that’s whisked away by this firey haze, another part of her body writhes in agony.

          FRACTURING.

          her gem is practically breaking at the seams, splitting into bits of once-pearlescent stone that chips away with every waking moment. she’s not sure how this happened, but then again, can she even think? can she even see? can she even hear?

          WORDS.

          she can hear them. she isn’t sure how or why, but she can hear them. they’re words that beckon her to stay alive. they’re words that beckon her not to give up. but that optimistic outlook is quickly fading and she’s almost gone now. she doesn’t mean to do it, but she rolls over in the moonstone’s arms, accidentally facing her. her face is horrific now: a hideous mesh of MONSTER and GEM swirls and contorts in an effort to survive.

Tony was well aware of the fact that in the village, he was largely disliked. It wasn’t a secret and if it was, it was a poorly kept one. He spent a large portion of his life in service of the realm. Working as an arms master for the military afforded him a sort of station he hadn’t been able to find in any other avenues and it wasn’t as though his family didn’t carry the reputation thanks to his father before him. With Tony’s help, the kingdom won conflict after conflict.

That didn’t mean it was all well and good, though. Tony found himself surrounded by the dead with little else than his own shadow to keep him company. Friends, his family, people he’d grown up with - all gone. All thanks to his great and terrible inventions of war. So he stopped. Stopped building arms, stopped forging swords and maces and poleaxes. Instead, he started forging things not yet seen. Things to better protect a horses hoofs, to make plowing fields easier, to filter the brackish taste of their water and ale.

The villagers called him crazy. The military turned its back on him. He was left with a pittance for a pension and to his own clever devices and for the most part that suited him fine. Old injuries pained him plenty, both real and imaginary, and he often found himself dreaming of places far off in the distance. Places he could scarcely fathom because the kingdom and the Stark legacy kept him tied to the land.

Then one day a rumor came down that the royals were convinced their daughter - years long gone - yet still lived. They were so certain, so hopeful that these sightings were real, that they were chartering anyone daring enough to travel to Dragon country in search of answers. At worst, Tony died. At best, he found himself a new home. So, he volunteered. He was saddled with a horse, provisions, a modest amount of coin, and some supplies. He took with him little armor and no more weapons than necessary to defend only himself. Without a backwards glance, he rode far and away from his ancestral land and into the unknown.

Which, as it turned out, was a lot more complicated than he thought it would be. Setting camp fires, battling rain and wind, trying to get a horse to cooperate - all things he would not have recommended to anyone who asked him for advice.

FAMOUS LAST WORDS.     //     not accepting.

          OH, HOW THOSE WORDS sound in her head. the mockery. the snark. the malice dripping from a golden tongue like poison from a vial. though the CONTEXT may be positive, the tone suggests something more sinister. the matriarch does not care how the pearl is done away with, as LONG as it HAPPENS.

          this is certainly a way to go out, but it’s not what the renegade would prefer. resting in the aurum palms of the very force she fought so valiantly against is NOT her first choice, NOT her second choice, NOT even her last. the irony of this situation eats away at her and has her feeling helpless -- ( MAYBE A PEARL IS ALL SHE’S EVER BEEN ! )

           it’s hard for her to stare the diamond in the eyes, but damn her if she DOESN’T TRY. the last of her energy is spent on bending upwards so that she can look her head on, and a bout of strangled, choking coughs is released from the chasm of her throat. even so, her face remains scrunched in a manner of DEFIANCE. brows angle against each other, lids squint against eyes.

                        ❛ YOU MAY HAVE ME -- ❜ she begins,

Send 🔳 for our muses to share a jail cell

“I thought he was joking,” Marie told Erwin, hiding her drunken giggles behind her shoulder, “I mean it is Halloween.” 

But the officer who had stopped them both for their (mostly her) public intoxication had not been joking, nor had he merely been dressed up as a police officer and despite Marie’s compliments to the young policeman, her offer to blow him in exchange for being let off the hook had, ah, not been received well. 

In fact, had she not offered a promise of sexual favors (even in jest) there was a chance neither of them would be sitting here now. 

“Well now we know,” she admitted, resting her head on Erwin’s shoulder, jumping when that same officer smacked his baton against the bars, a wordless order for her to refrain from physical contact. 

Marie scowled at him.