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chamomileteainabuttercup · 3 years

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beboots

How about Jangobi, with 4, 16, 36, 37?

Thanks for playing! This one is a little bit of a challenge because, as I noted before, this is a ship I don’t really think about unless a particular gifset reappears on my dash and then I think about it for like fifteen minutes. Getting it to work requires changing the plot quite a lot, of course, and I prefer to get the changes going from the very start of their interaction.

4. First impression of each other? Was it love at first sight?

Temuera Morrison has noted that at the beginning of the scene, his “hospitable Māori” impulse was to offer Obi-Wan a cup of tea, but since he wasn’t sure they have cups of tea in space he decided to just stick to the script.

So in my version, he does offer him a cup of tea and Obi-Wan accepts and so they sit down with their tea and it’s all rather disarming. Obi-Wan is still highly suspicious of Jango (which is only sensible) and Jango is still playing everything very close to the chest, but the mood is slightly softened by the sharing of tea - and if they’re feeling lavish, biscuits too. Obi-Wan’s head is full of questions, like “What sort of man is this? Ruthless bastard, or perhaps not totally ruthless, given the little boy? Was he involved in an assassination attempt on a rather good friend of mine? What can I find out about all this cloning business from him without letting him know how little I knew in the first place?” while Jango has two main questions, “How much does he know?” and “Am I going to have to do something about him?” And he’d rather not have to do something about him, because he likes the look of him and this kind of cagey verbal game-playing is his idea of a bit of light fun. Then again, he is a Jedi and they generally spell trouble - but there’s no reason not to enjoy being around him while the opportunity lasts.

Oh, and while this conversation is going on, Boba is sitting on the floor nearby playing with his space Lego and every time Obi-Wan glances that way he’s looking daggers of suspicion at him. Obi-Wan actually finds it rather amusing to be glared at like that by a cute little kid (he’s like an angry kitten) so he just smiles back and twinkles his eyes at him (Boba looks disgusted), and asks Jango how old his son is, and they agree that eleven’s a very nice age, before all the teen angst begins.

Jango says calmly, “I’m not expecting to have much trouble with Boba,” and Obi-Wan replies, “Ha! I wasn’t expecting to have this much trouble with Anakin,” so that gets them onto the difficulties and rewards of bringing up a bright and adventurous boy, whether as his dad or as a sort of older brother figure, and sharing stories about things Boba and Anakin have said and done, and before Obi-Wan knows it they’ve been chatting for an hour and he’s got completely side-tracked from finding out about clone skulduggery and has slipped into flirting with Jango fairly shamelessly. Which doesn’t necessarily mean anything, Obi-Wan will flirt with more or less anything that can talk back, but he’s realising that there’s an awful lot of charisma about Jango and he’s beginning to feel fascinated.

So no love at first sight, but in later years (because they do have later years together, Jango doesn’t lose his head) Obi-Wan likes to say, “You had me at ‘cuppa tea?’”

(but he really sealed the deal when he offered him a Tim Tam)

16. Do they keep secrets? Lie? Cheat?

To start out, Jango is keeping all sorts of secrets and lies freely whenever he considers it necessary, or just convenient. It’s only gradually, as he grows to like Obi-Wan personally more and more, that he begins to want to be honest with him. For a while they have one of those “frenemies who encounter one another occasionally and engage in flirtatious banter and/or homoerotic combat” type relationships, but over the course of the Clone Wars as they meet again and again they get into situations where they need to trust and help each other, and Jango has cut ties with the Separatists because he prefers to be a free agent, and Obi-Wan begins to hope that if he had a strong enough personal reason, Jango might want to lay off the shady business and... and there he runs up against the fact that he shouldn’t be thinking in these terms, he can’t have that sort of relationship with Jango any more than he could with Satine, he just really really wants to. And at least Jango doesn’t have a philosophical or ethical problem with violence.

Obi-Wan isn’t actually celibate, he squares it with himself that his flirtations and anonymous hook-ups aren’t deep attachments or possessive relationships and therefore they are within the letter if not entirely the spirit of the rules, and the first few times it happens with Jango that justification works, but it starts to wear thin when he realises how much he misses him after he leaves. When Jango, thinking he’ll surprise Obi-Wan when he unexpectedly sees him in a bar, walks in on one such hook-up, he’s angry and upset and Obi-Wan is rather shocked and thrilled to realise Jango considers this cheating, that he cares enough to have hurt feelings about it. He’d been thinking of himself as emotionally compromised without quite realising Jango couldn’t just take or leave him. That’s really the “Oh” moment for Obi-Wan.

So after a while they’re not keeping secrets from each other, but Obi-Wan is working very hard to keep the relationship a secret from the other Jedi, including his closest friends, and telling a lot of lies in the process (there is at least one comedy episode wherein Obi-Wan is trying to sneak away to see Jango and Anakin is trying to sneak away to see Padmé and each keeps getting in the other’s way without ever realising there is sneakiness on the other side).

Not to mention keeping it a secret from all the clones. Boy, is that a weird situation.

36. What’s their greatest strength as a couple? Their weakness?

They have excellent chemistry and both love sparking off each other, verbally and/or more physically. They always find each other exciting and interesting. Not so much a weakness as an obstacle is the fact that Boba still really doesn’t like Obi-Wan and doesn’t need a stepdad and thinks he has stupid hair (that part really stings). He’s always been the apple of his father’s eye and never had to share his attention with anyone else he really cared about, so his dad actually falling in love with someone makes him feel insecure and jealous and grumpy. Obi-Wan’s attempts to win him over are complicated by the fact that he can’t actually explain to anyone else why he’s trying so hard to be nice to snotty teen bounty hunting prodigy Boba Fett. Boba really enjoys holding this over his head - but will never actually drop the blade because, as little as he likes his dad’s boyfriend, he is just grown-up enough to realise it would really hurt his dad if he spoiled things for them, and he doesn’t want to go that far.

37. How much would they be willing to sacrifice for the other? Any lines they refuse to cross?

That’s the big problem, isn’t it? Crossing lines. Obi-Wan has a very strong moral, religious and cultural code, and he can’t sacrifice that without undoing his whole sense of identity. He can be dangerously complacent about the rightness of the Jedi Order and the Republic it defends and persists in believing that if Jango only understood more about the Jedi he would accept that rightness. From his perspective it often appears as if Jango doesn’t have a moral code at all.

From Jango’s point of view, yes he does, but it’s very pragmatic and based more on principles of loyalty and personal integrity than on adherence to any laws or rules. If he’s true to himself and to the small circle of people he cares about, that’s all that matters. He cannot and will not compromise on his duty to Boba as a father, and that comes before even all those complicated issues of Mandalorian politics - but those issues will inevitably cause problems for them too, particularly given that even if he’s been able to get over his romantic feelings for Satine as his feelings for Jango grew, she’s still one of Obi-Wan’s oldest and dearest friends and he doesn’t want her to be overthrown. And of course Jango is far from the only person who might want to overthrow her.

Somehow all this is going to eventually involve a lightsaber/Darksaber duel between Maul and Jango in the Mandalorian throne room. Holy shit that would be cool. Fuck yeah!

uhhhh I don’t know whether or how any of this gets resolved but there’ll be ANGST and STURM UND DRANG and other German words for heavy shit.

#ask box meme #jangobi #meanwhile Anakin is fucking up his life elsewhere I'm not concerned with making that fit #Maul: KENOBIIIIIIIII #Jango: does this guy know you or something #long post (apologetic)

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anastasiaskarsgard · 5 years

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Destiny of the Damned

Part 1- Roman Godfrey

Chapter 1- nosebleed

I never thought I'd miss traffic and noise. In California, something is always happening, and traffic is just a fact of life. When I had to move out to help my uncle, who lives outside of Hemlock Grove Pennsylvania to say it was a culture shock was an understatement. Everything closed early and I think they’d have to schedule a traffic jam or someone would need to get murdered on the main roads. After about a month, you figure out who everyone is. Small town life is bizarre. I went to eat at a local diner, and a police officer was eating there as well, looking out the window and makes a call. I’m in the next booth, so I can’t help but overhear him call someone that had just run the stop sign, and told them to come pick up their tocket at the station later. I always took the energy and anonymity giant metropolitan areas like Los Angeles or San Francisco for granted. It never even occured to me there were places where there were no malls, airports, freeways or parking fees. I’ve been here for a little over 2 months, and I am literally the only Mercedes Benz S-Class I’ve seen. In order to reach civilization and acceptable fashion retail, you had to go on a full on road trip. My uncle was the closest thing I had to a parent, so I was willing to tough it out for him. He had fallen down his concrete basement stairs, and fractured his neck a hands. He is very independant and stubborn and needed assistance until he healed from the multiple surgeries he’s had to endure, to get his hands working correctly again. His home is a famous work of art, more than a place to actually occupy, so strangers coming to stay there, and touch his stuff, damn near got him catching a charge. I just finished University and was an executive for my Uncles’ multi billion dollar corporation but realistically, we could take the rest of our lives off, and be fine. But we are both workaholic innovators that share the same miraculous quirk. We have autobiographical memories which means we don't forget anything. Want to know what the date, temperature, things I did, who I was with the first time I heard a particular song? I can tell you. It's a blessing and a curse. Everything is a trigger for memories for me and my Uncle. So although his desire for isolation and little contact is extreme, I get it. Having a brain that doesn't stop can be exhausting and stressful.

Books help, so when I turned the corner, and spotted a Barnes and Noble, I actually squealed in excitement. I pulled up and looked a little out of place, but i didnt care. My car was understated, low profile, over the top. With its clear panoramic sunroof, technology, and ambiance lighting, id always kid with my uncle that i needed it for my mental health. Really, I was terribly spoiled, yet I appreciated it and never tried to rub it anyone's face, but I understood a young woman exiting a very expensive car, in a small town, that lived in the strange house with her reclusive billionaire Uncle, wasn't going to have anyone baking me pies. I was a realist.

I was pleasantly surprised by the sheer size of this store. inside there was a shockingly large lego display and it reminded me of how much i used to love assembling complicated structures, while most girls played wth dolls. While most little girls wanted to play with dollies and imagine scenarios about their wedding day, I was trying to improve my laptops performance (catching a few on fire in my early years). The dynamics and emotionality of people never held any value really. It was what truly always puzzled me. Losing oneself in another person, or the entire concept of love, seemed so unlikely. Far too many factors involved, and why anyone compromises when they can just do as they please by themselves only makes sense in situations like with my Uncle. It was still inconvenient, so getting close to people has never been appealing, but the legos we're.

I walked over and spotted a gigantic Death Star set and clapped in delight. I thought I heard a low chuckle behind me, so I spun around to find the best looking man I'd ever seen, dressed in a very nice suit. He didnt waver or look away when i looked at him, and almost looked as though he were daring me to look away. Most people would find him intimidating, but nothing really made me nervous so he didnt phase me.

"What's funny?" I asked looking him dead in the eye.

"You." He smirked.

"Glad to oblige you" i said sarcastically as I did a half hearted bow, then standing straight with a smirk. Who did he think he was? Green eyed, puffy lipped punk. I didn't break eye contact which usually caused people to look away by now, but To my surprise he laughed and looked me up and down. Assessed me like i was livestock; sizing me up and trying to decide if he could break me.

"I'm Roman."

"I'm American." I replied.

"No my name is Roman." He laughed heartily. An amused twinkle in his eye.

I couldn't help but notice he really had the best smile, and I really have a thing for noses, and his was divine. if you think about it, its the most important facial feature. A nose can make or break a face, and his cute little slightly upturned nose, with its perfect symmetry was for sure making his face. combine that with his gorgeous green eyes, long lashes, defined bone structure, alabaster skin and standing at least 6′3″ he must be one of the biggest pains in the asses, this side of the Mississippi! Most women would see him and be all in but having a gorgeous man that exudes sexuality and is very sure of himself is far more trouble then anyone could ever be worth.

Why pretty boy wanted to trade names, probably had nothing to do with me, and much more to do with boredom, or what he could get out of me. I usually don't pay much attention to anyone of the opposite sex, especially obvious pains in the ass like the man before me, but something about him, was preventing me from just turning around and blowing him off.

"Generally when I tell someone my name, they tell me their own." He said staring into my eyes with such an intensity that I reacted almost involuntarily.

I have a defect. If someone tries to tell me what to do or control me, I am not fucking having it. Authority has always been an issue, and this felt a lot like him trying to dominate me, and I felt almost sick. Like when you stand up too fast and get a bit woozy. I took that as a good time to turn my back on him and ignore him.

He walked in front of me, blocking my view of the legos and ducked down a bit to make eye contact. I couldnt hide the complete shock on my face at his behavior. He's either crazy or incredibly confident. I raised my eyebrows as if to say "can i help you" and I know my face was absolutely unfriendly, yet he didn't appear to notice.

His face hardened "tell me. Your. Name." He said slowly and deliberately.

Now it was my turn to laugh. I looked at him to see the smile or just kiddding , but it never came... WOW. He was serious!!! I leaned my face a couple inches from his face and I said "Nope" making sure to loudly pop the p.

The look on his face was absolutely priceless, and had my laughing enough that several people were starting. just as I was about to walk away victorious, his nose began to bleed. I instantly was embarrassed for him and I couldnt just leave him here to bleed on the legos so I jumped into action.

"Oh shit, your nose is bleeding." i said lookinbg around for any type of tissue, when i noticed we were right next to the restrooms.

"What? Seriously? Can you get it?" he implored looking all frightened, dare I say fragile.

Without any hesitation, I wiped the blood from his face. "Come with me, we need tissue, bathroom is right here. Look up and hold your nose." I grabbed his hand and recieved a shock. static electricity stayed with me a lot and often scared people but he didnt even flinch. He laced his fingers in mine as if it were the most natural thing in the world and i led him to the bathroom.

Once inside, I grabbed some tissues and directed him to stand over the sink. I wet some paper towels and wiped away the blood and then took the dry tissues and pushed his head back and crammed little tissue torpedos in his perfect little nose. The whole time I could feel his intense gaze on me, but what else was he going to look at really?

"Gotta admit, this is new." He quipped, admiring my handy work in the mirror and laughing in dismay.

"What? Bloody nose or attention from ladies?"

"Um.... you're kind of rude, but then when there is an issue, you don't hesitate to help. Then you're taking better care of my nose bleed than anyone. No one really takes charge with me.... and now I'm in a bathroom with a woman and we aren't fucking." He laughed again.

"Fucking. Classy. If I didn't know any better I'd swear you were the Godfrey asshole everyone keeps telling me about." Ever since I'd arrived at Hemlock grove, I'd heard Godfrey this and Godfrey that. Their name was on everything and I'd heard the son was like a 21 year old gorgeous nightmare, that was as kind, as he was humble. The few people id spoken to had told me to stay away from him. I found it odd, I didn't know his first name all of a sudden.

His face fell into a frown.

"I see that's the general consensus about that guy. Cheer up Charlie, your nose stopped bleeding most likely, let me just pull these out." i gently pulled the tissues from his nose and waited for blood but none came. "Boom mothafucka its on!" i laughed at my own ridiculousness before turning and washing my hands.

"You're weird” he stated matter of factly.

Roman stood there quietly thinking. I could almost feel the wheels turning in his head. His mood had completely changed at the mention of the Godfrey kid.Maybe his family had lost everything because of them too or the guy stole his girl, i felt a little guilty so i relented a tiny bit.

"Hey listen, Roman was it?" He nodded and bit his lip. oh he knows what hes doing. boy he was trouble "I'm sorry if the Godfrey's are a sore subject. I don't know anything about anybody here. I'm just helping out my crazy uncle that fell down his basement stairs and broke his hands and neck. I'm from the west coast and this dreary fucking place isn't exactly my cup of tea. I don't know why I'm rude before I'm polite but it's involuntary. My name is Letha, it's like Lisa with a lisp and now I've officially over shared." I could feel my face turning red. Why was He making me such an awkward mess? My God this WAS new.

suddenly he grabbed me by my shoulders and pulled me in stopping just an inch away from my face. "Who put you up to this?" He asked with such venom in his voice it made me flinch. "WHO!?!?!" He screamed in my face.

I tried to push him away but he wouldn't budge. My mind raced and I began to panic. No one has ever screamed in my face like this and I didn't like it and yet, the way his eyes searched mine and the tenseness in his body, and just sheer panic made me do something I hardly ever did. Maybe it was brought on by panic or survival instinct, but it was not my normal. Especially to a crazy stranger in the bathroom, but I had the overwhelming NEED to hug him. I fought past his hands trying to hold my shoulders in kind of a silly slap fight and grabbed him around the waist and buried my head in his shoulder. He smelled so good.This was outright crazy behavior for me, and i was confusing myself but if i tried to not think, it almost felt nice, for a few moments my mind was blank. A minute passed with me holding him as he calmed his breathing with his arms raised. Nothing was triggering me and I felt odd.

"Nobody sent me, you nut job! Hug me back, you need a hug. ”i squeezed even harder, nuzzling my face into his collar, his chin gently resting on my head.

His arms hesitantly closed around my back and then he crushed me into a deep embrace. He really did need a hug. "You ok now crazy?" I asked trying to pull back to look at his face but he held me fast. He started to shudder a bit and then I felt moisture hit my forehead. Ok it's gone too far, this is why I don't hug.

Was this crazy ass dude crying? Oh no, he was really crazy. Shit shit shit. Good job Letha, you're gonna get murdered in a bookstore bathroom, in shit hole Pennsylvania, on a Friday afternoon. Why did you hug this fucking guy? I was starting to breathe funny now!

Roman loosened his grip and looked deep in my eyes searching for something. What? Im unsure, but he must of found it, because he laughed and he seemed almost sweet, except tears were running down his face and a moment earlier he screamed in my face.

"Well Ms Letha, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'd love nothing more than to take you out this evening wherever you want to go. Before you refuse, I assure you I'm not crazy, it's just I had a cousin named Letha, which I'm sure you're aware is an unusual name, and I loved her very much and she passed and I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It caught me off guard."

I had heard about that Letha. Everyone that found out my name, told me about Letha Godfrey, the Godfrey girl that was as kind as she was beautiful, but tragically got knocked up and lost her mind talking about angels being the father, and dating some weirdo outcast. when she went to give birth in the family skyscraper medical facility, she mysteriously died and so did her baby.

"You're the Godfrey kid." I practically whispered staring at him with wide eyes as I recalled what I'd said about him, TO him.

"Hardly a kid anymore I think." He smiled. He was so handsome, it was freaking me out. "What's your phone number? I have to run to the white tower, and then I'm all yours."

I knew better. He was too good looking and too rich and too everything but something told me he needed me. I know it sounds crazy but I believed in my heart and soul, this perfect beautiful fucking legend of a man needed me. I knew it wasn't logical, but I told him my number and turned to walk out of the bathroom, but he grabbed my hand.

"Please answer." He pleaded pressing a kiss to my hand. He wasn't trying to make me do anything now. He was giving the power over to me and i was honestly taken aback a bit by the almost desperate look in his eyes. I knew in my heart, he genuinely needed me, but for what?

I can't explain the feeling I felt in that bathroom with this man, but when I say I felt a deeper connection to him than I'd ever felt in my 22 years on this earth, I mean it. It was thrilling, and scary, and strange. I smiled at him and nodded my head. As I made my way to my car, I tried to convince myself not to answer, but I knew that I would.

He didn't follow me out of the bathroom and I just made a bee line for my car. I had to go. I couldn't help smiling from ear to ear. The cashier glared at me with open animosity, before turning her attention to the restroom door, looking dreamily for Roman to appear. Boy oh boy did I know better than to get involved with this guy, but deep in my gut i knew. He needed me.

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgård #bill istvan günther skarsgård #roman godfrey #hemlock grove #bill fanfiction #edited rewrite #my writing

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sheriddleston · 6 years

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00q amnesia au because i’m cliche like that

A/N: tfw you get tired of exams and decide to try to be creative again and dust off something from 007 fest this year as a snippet you will never expand on again :P

The sight of the flat left Q with the same sort of déjà vu feeling he’d been having since he first opened his eyes in the hospital. The flat looked nice, far nicer than anything he ever remembered – or even anything he could see himself living in. The décor was heavy on pastel colours and minimalistic in a way that made Q’s skin prickle; only the obscenely wealthy could choose to have so little. Not for the first time, Q wondered just who he’d gotten involved with.

Nevertheless there was recognition there, like hearing an obscure song on the radio years later.

Before he could dwell too much on it though, he heard a jingling sound to his right and something darted out of the bedroom door- something dark, fast and furry-

“Ginger!” Q instinctively dropped to his knees and gathered up the ball of fur in his arms. “Oh and Blue!” he exclaimed at the second cat slinking out after the first.

They purred affectionately, rubbing up against his thighs and Q couldn’t help the delighted laugh that burst out of him. Clearly, they’d missed him.

A soft noise from behind had him turning his head towards the door. Oh right. He’d almost forgotten -hah, forgotten! How silly of him. Bond.

The man in question had finished with the extremely complex-looking lock to the flat and was now gazing at Q with an inscrutable look on his face. His body language was as closed off as ever, hands shoved into his pockets.

“What?” Q asked almost defensively. Ginger nipped at his finger.

“You remember the cats,” Bond said dryly. He might have even looked a little amused. “Even the new one.” Startled, Q looked back at the cats clawing at him and realized it was true. He did. He remembered the cats, the way Blue liked to be cuddled while Ginger was a biter. He remembered the cats he hadn’t even known he’d had- but evidently not his job or his flat or his co-workers or his husband.

Christ, what a mess. Q could feel himself flushing as he averted his gaze. “Sorry,” he mumbled. Although what for, he couldn’t really say. He didn’t ask to be bashed over the head so hard that he’d actually forgotten almost all of his adult life and everyone in it, vague university recollections aside. He wasn’t willfully forgetting anything thank you very much and it’s not like Bond had been much help in the matter.

Ever since it’d become clear in the hospital that he had no idea who anyone was, that the memories that he did have were more scattered than the pieces of a toddler’s Lego set, Bond –apparently his fucking husband- hadn’t ever been in the same room alone with him or spoken more than a handful of sentences.

If anything, his rock had been Eve, who’d taken to explaining things to him patiently and shooting Bond dirty looks whenever the man ducked out of the hospital room.

“He’s a bit emotionally constipated, that one,” she’d said apologetically. “Don’t worry, he’ll get over it soon enough.” And the look on her face had told Q that if he didn’t, Eve would make him. Q hoped so because he wasn’t sure how exactly he could tell, but he got the feeling that Bond had been drinking. And often.

Bond let out a sigh, dragging Q’s thoughts back to the present. “It’s fine,” he said and Q felt a spark of annoyance light up inside. Of course it was bloody fine. Q knew it was fine, Bond’s the one who had all the problems with Q right now. “Go wash up,” Bond waved a hand through the air. “I’ll…make us dinner.”

There were a million things Q could say, a million sharp things that let Bond know exactly how he was feeling. But the slump in Bond’s shoulders as he walked over to the fridge made Q pause. In the end he decided to say nothing at all and quietly headed to the bathroom. Ginger and Blue followed at his heels. Whatever relief he’d felt at their arrival had evaporated, only to be replaced with the near-constant doubt.

The moment of privacy in the bathroom gave him a moment to think, to piece together all the oddities and soothe the frayed edges of his nerves. His head throbbed dully behind his eyes; blunt force trauma wasn’t going to be easy to shake off.

He wasn’t obligated to remain here, he reminded himself. He could leave. He had to have money for himself right? And he was fairly certain Eve would help him. Sort-of certain. This was…a trial run of sorts. Familiar surroundings to help him remember and all that. And the man was his fucking husband. He was supposed to be with family. So then why did he feel so off-kilter?

When he made it back to the kitchen, Bond was cutting up vegetables on the counter. Despite himself, Q took a moment to admire the way the muscles of his back shifted. At least the bloke was drop dead fucking gorgeous. Q apparently had quite the taste in men.

Bond looked up at that moment, as though sensing Q’s thoughts, then smirked when he caught Q’s gaze. He could feel himself flushing again, embarrassment coursing hotly through him. He bloody hated it, how he seemed to be such a complete open book to everyone he met now. Q never did well under pressure so perhaps his next words could be excused.

“You’re not all some sort of great big crime family, are you?” he blurted out.

“What?” Oh good. Bond looked genuinely confused. That was promising. Unless he was a very, very good faker which could very well be in the realm of possibilities. He carefully put down the knife to face Q, who tried not to gulp. “What makes you think that?”

“Well it’s just,” Q waved a hand around in the air for emphasis. “The way you lot are. The way you move, the locks in this place, all the secrecy about my job. Something’s very…shady about it. I mean, look at me! I got hit over the head! Deliberately! I don’t know how common attempted murder is but this isn’t exactly filling me with a lot of confidence. I don’t know who I am, or what I do or anything beyond this is your husband and those are your friends. It kind of...makes me wonder what I’ve gotten myself into.”

Q wasn’t made for keeping still and quiet and after an age of listening and nodding and trying to gather data, all of it just spilled forth from his mouth, without his permission. God, he thought as Bond’s blue eyes roamed across his face, he’d said too much. Now they were going to decide he was too much trouble and dump him in the Thames.

No, he reasoned. They wouldn’t dump him. They spent too much effort rehabilitating him to just cut him loose for a few questions now…where the fuck were these thoughts even coming from? Was this normal?

“Can’t keep anything from you huh?” Bond mused, almost to himself. He looked wistful, fond, and something twisted in Q’s gut at the sight. It was so very rare that Bond didn’t keep himself carefully controlled around him. “You’ve always been too smart for your own good.”

…Never mind, the Thames seemed more likely right around now.

“Would you stay?” Bond asked, suddenly taking a few steps forward. Something in his steely blue eyes made Q’s heart lurch into his throat; like coloured liquid nitrogen, cold but burning in its intensity. “If I told you to take us in good faith and trust us? Without asking any more questions?”

“I…” Q wanted to say no because what the fuck? What the actual fuck, his heart was thudding like a jackhammer. But…impossibly, he also wanted to say yes. And not, funnily enough, because of what might happen to him if he refused but because of the look in his eyes. Q remembered that. When the extent of Q’s memory loss had become clear. The quiet sort of devastation on Bond’s face, the way he looked shattered open. Those few moments where Q felt like he was looking at a person and not an actor. “I…”

Bond let out a sigh, leaning back on the kitchen counter. To Q, it seemed like he was deliberating something. There was a pause where nothing happened, time seemed suspended- then Bond met his eyes again.

“MI6,” he said.

“Huh?”

“MI6,” he repeated carefully. “I work for MI6, as a field agent. You work -or worked, I suppose- for them as well. Before. You were far up in the food chain. Obviously, the information regarding your little accident is sensitive. With your memory compromised we weren’t sure how much we should tell you.”

Oh. Ohhh. That- That made sense actually. Potentially. “A field agent? As in, a spy? For MI6?”

“Commander James Bond of the Royal Naval Reserve,” Bond confirmed, and he didn’t snap a salute or anything but there was a practiced ease in his voice. Q thought back to Tanner’s firm stance, Eve’s polished everything. The suits and the secrecy. If Bond was an MI6 agent, then Q was, what? A co-worker?

“Are we really even married?” Q wondered aloud, uncomfortable all of a sudden. “Or have you just been assigned to babysit me while I recover?”

Bond made a strangled noise and oh, there it was again. The devastation. Fuck. The roiling in his gut intensified. “We’re married,” Bond affirmed quietly and turned away.

Q was struck by the sudden, intense need to make it okay again.

“So,” he said, desperately casting around for a topic. Luckily, amnesia made it an easy search. “So, we were co-workers then? Isn’t there supposed to be rules against this sort of thing?”

“…There are,” Bond replied, still looking away. “We didn’t care.”

Huh, how interesting. That sounded…almost romantic. An illicit office relationship, spies and the Secret Service- all very noir-esque. And for the second time that night, Q let his mouth run away from him. “That sounds kind of hot, actually.”

There was a pause in which both Bond and Q took the time to process Q’s statement properly. And then possibly the wildest thing happened since Q had woken up in this confusing world. Bond laughed. It burst forth like it was surprised out of him- and to be fair, it most likely was- one hand going to the counter to steady himself. The sound was deep and seemed to curl inside Q’s ribcage and settle there.

Bond looked up at him, the mirth in his eyes made them softer, made the lines in his face deepen and the corners crinkle-

Oh, Q thought helplessly as his insides fluttered about. Things were starting to make much more sense now. It looked like he was sticking around after all. There was no possible way he could leave now.

“Well,” he told Bond, brusquely, all business now. “Since you’ve already told me the big secret, I suppose there’s really no point keeping hush anymore is there? You had better start from the beginning.”

#my writing #00q #amnesia au #quartermaster #james bond #00q au #i miss writing

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crasherfly · 4 years

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It’s Not You, Dummy, It’s Capitalism

We all need to work less.

That’s the conclusion I’ve drawn after 3 weeks on a 30 hour schedule. It’s too soon to say the change has been truly life-altering, but I can promise you it’s made a difference.

To clarify, my situation is a rather remarkable one-

I work in the government, so I’m union protected. That, in and of itself, is of great importance and a source of security unavailable to most people in 2020.

Due to a pending budget crisis, we were given the opportunity to request reduced hours on a voluntary basis. We could retain our vacation accrual and insurance benefits. We’d simply work less.

I live in a dual-income household where the second income is considerably higher than my own. As such, my cost-of-living needs are offset accordingly.

Basically, all of the above had to be true for this option to be viable for me. Stars-aligning kind of stuff. It is absolutely an economic privilege that I recognize many do not have access to.

My student loan payments are delayed until January, so that’s a huge expense temporarily delayed that played a major factor in my choice.

So, goes without saying that yes, I am remarkably lucky. I’m not out of touch with the fact that many, many folks could not make this work. Luckily, that’s the point of this post! In a better world, everyone SHOULD have the chance to make this work.

With that out of the way, I would like to repeat, we all need to work less. Even if it’s just ten hours less, it would make all the difference.

The first week of my 30 hour/3 day work schedule was marked mostly by sleep and inactivity, my body simply recovering from the absolute insanity of 2020, which for me had been marked by constant workplace turmoil, incredibly strict job requirements, relentless electronic monitoring and the looming threat of budget-induced layoffs. Couple this with the stress of a self-induced diet and a tight spending budget as I pursued paying off all my credit cards, and it’s little wonder that I came face to face with a true, no-holds-barred meltdown in early August.

I mean, sure, I had lost weight and considerably paid down my debts, but I was also drinking more than I had at any time since maybe college. My impulse spending had returned with a vengeance as I obsessively sought out new thrills. I was almost exclusively plugged into my video games and anime. I wasn’t creating, I was barely socializing, and my off time was just enough for me to catch up on sleep and occasionally work out before going straight back to the 40 hour, 4 day slog.

There was no epiphany moment in August where I realized I was having a meltdown and needed a change. I wouldn’t recognize my meltdown for what it was until weeks after the fact.

But when my department offered the reduced schedule option, something deep within me stirred- and I grabbed that opportunity as quick as I could. It was a visceral reaction. I knew that emotionally, spiritually, physically, I was in a world of hurt- and I knew why. It wouldn’t take a new therapist or hours of meditation to confirm- it was my job. I hated my job, just as surely as I had hated the job that came before it and the job before that- and it was killing me.

But economic necessity kept me from doing anything about it. I needed insurance. I needed the security of a paycheck. I needed to eat, to have a gym membership, to fill my car with gas, etc.

So when my workplace said “hey, we’ll let you keep all your benefits, just work less and take a smaller check”, I realized that hey...this was a pretty fair compromise. So I went for it.

The results? Well. See for yourself-

I sleep more, and with regularity, and without as many vicious all-nighters. I don’t spend time freaking out about how little control I have over my time, or how the sooner I go to sleep, the sooner I’ll just wake up and start the next terrible day of work all over again.

My workouts go longer and to greater effect, and I have more energy for them.

I’m actually writing on a daily basis again.

My homespace is the cleanest it has ever been, in spite of 3 pets and an ongoing pest infestation. I’m even doing laundry regularly. It’s wild.

I’m reading, meditating and watching media with intention, because my focus is slowly repairing itself now that I’m not in front of a screen 10-14 hours a day.

I have more time to invest in and socialize with the people around me.

I drink less. A lot less. And it’s become incrementally easier to continue making wise and kind consumption choices for my body- choices that will surely prolong my life, if I can keep them up.

I’ve been able to take up the side-projects and learning endeavors I had been putting off or had written off as pipe-dreams, ‘cuz I now have the emotional surplus to take them on.

And the list goes on- so many small things- cooking for myself regularly, not forgetting to brush my teeth, putting on new clothes every day- stuff that like, SHOULD be normal stuff, but just wasn’t, for me, is finally happening, ‘cuz I finally feel like I have the energy for it.

What I’ve learned so far is that when you aren’t killing yourself 40 hours a week, you might end up having more resources available to you than you did before.

I thought I’d be feeling a tight belt after my first check- but if anything, I’m shocked at how much more economic freedom I feel. Gone are the stress-induced impulses to spend on items I don’t need. If anything, having less in the bank account has helped me look on the raw amount of STUFF I have accrued in my adult life and appreciate it more deeply- as well as part with a good deal of it.-

Not unlike my video game backlog, I’ve learned I have no small number of personal backlogs that have built up over the years. Books, movies, crafts, legos, electronics, workout gear- you name it, I probably have a collection built up for it- created in a moment of Capitalism-induced stress where the act of building that backlog was mistaken as accomplishment of following through on its end-objective.

These backlog collections were the product of excess- things purchased just ‘cuz. Things purchased to make the 40 hour death march feel Worth It. I mean, who wants to take a paycheck and see nothing for it beyond a few debt balances marginally reduce? When you have a pinball table sitting in your living room, that feels like a far more tangible reward for your work and stress.

But now that the work schedule stress is at least marginally reduced, the root cause of these growing backlogs having been addressed, I don’t feel like I need that pinball table. And as the days press on and my energy continues to return piece by piece, I realize that the several hundred bucks I traded in were more than worth what I’ve gained back in personal health. And as a result, I have more left over in the bank- turns out when I feel good, I don’t feel the need to constantly bleed cash or obsess over full online shipping carts.

I just straight up don’t miss the money.

I mean, yes, obviously, less income can and does suck. Telling people I willingly took a lighter schedule often meets with a mix of reactions ranging from confusion to concern to outright disdain and judgement. If a sudden expense comes up- say, a medical emergency, I’d have to revisit this arrangement. And there’s always a chance I could get laid off, ‘cuz Covid is ravaging our economy, so having little cushion for that possibility is a source of stress and concern.

But otherwise, my case is a remarkable one. I was able to look at my current check, guess how much I’d be losing by reducing my hours, and feel pretty good about what I was left with. Most people can’t make that math work, and I empathize with that.

But my point here isn’t to marvel over how lucky I am. My point here is that when you realize that it is POSSIBLE to retain essential benefits like health insurance without the proverbial gun of a 40 hour work week pointed at your head, you start to realize just how different American society could be- for the better.

Here are just a few things that could so easily be different if American society was even a little willing to bend just a tiny bit.

We don’t need to work 40 hours a week. It’s an imaginary and stagnant number that means literally nothing. We sure as hell don’t need to be on the job 5 days either.

Similarly, we don’t NEED most of the benefits employers dangle in front of us to keep ups for 40+ hours a week- benefits that could easily be transferred over to pure pay/financial compensation.

I’d go so far as to say we don’t even really NEED the extra money, either, but for everyone to require less money is to assume that A) our entire economic ecosystem could change overnight (unlikely) and B) Most businesses can’t afford to pay us more for less raw productivity (patently false in most cases).

We don’t need to use half of our earned income for a place to live. We don’t even need to use a third of it or a quarter.

Good food doesn’t have to be as expensive as it is, and a gym membership/fitness assistance doesn’t have to be a luxury available only to those who can pay for it.

Medical insurance doesn’t need to be conditional- and it sure as fuck shouldn’t be tied to employment. Oh, and “elective” medical care and therapy should absolutely be freely available.

Cars/transportation/clothing/utilities/essential personal items (clothes/furniture/internet/etc) do not have to be paywalled behind requisite job/personal security- the same requisite security that often requires these very same things before you can obtain said security.

It should go without saying that you should not need job experience to gain job experience. Generally speaking, the people making twice as much as you are no different from you save for a few essential personal contacts that got them where they are. You could do what they do if given the proper time and training. In a perfect world, we could freely apply for anything, and it would be illegal to list years of experience or a degree as a job requirement.

We do not need to let employers monopolize our lives- no matter what incentives they might dangle in front of us. Our jobs should be just that- jobs. A place we go to create something for someone else in exchange for compensation. They should not be our purpose. They should not take up the majority of our time. They should not cost us our physical or emotional well-being.

We need to stop pretending that our employers are interested in anything beyond productivity for the sake of productivity.

And then we need to prioritize ourselves accordingly.

The list can go on and on.

So many of these things really aren’t a reach. They truly aren’t. Other countries do them, and have met with success. But whether by stubbornness or greed or simple laziness, American society just can’t or won’t consider these asks.

I’ll just end with this-

I’m on the other side of the typical employer-employee agreement, where I’m retaining my most important benefits but simply working and earning less. It’s a realization of like, half a bullet-point from my “how society can get better” list, but even this mere half-realization is a life-changer.

It’s not the right choice for everyone. And certainly, there are people who would even prefer to work and earn more.

But our entire society shouldn’t be contingent on that being the ONLY option.

Everyone should have the choice to do what I’m doing right now, if they want.

But for that to happen, our society needs to fundamentally change.

I believe if our society changes and extends even the most meager of employment and benefit flexibility to its citizens, we would all, every last one of us, be happier and more fulfilled.

If you’re working 40+ hours a week grinding out a living and are beating yourself up ‘cuz you don’t have time or energy to keep your home clean, work out, eat healthy, do your laundry, invest in social opportunities, skill building, or even undertake personal investments like a car or an updated wardrobe-

It’s not a You issue.

It’s a Capitalism issue.

And the only way it’ll be fixed is everyone can be afforded the same opportunity as I have been.

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