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samanthahirr · 10 months

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HR Complaints Against MI6 Staff Headcanons

The repeated complaints lodged in Q’s personnel file from various members of Q Branch all share a similar theme: harassment outside of work hours. While no malicious intentions have been ascribed to the quartermaster, his lack of respect for his staff’s work-life balance has resulted in Q texting and emailing his team hours after their shift ends—sometimes even in the middle of the night. HR has given the quartermaster a stern admonishment that he is not to contact his subordinates off-duty unless it is an emergency worthy of contacting Mallory first. In the year since this edict, the incidences of after-hours contact have dropped precipitously.

Gareth Mallory is always in a hurry, and finding parking in London has worse odds than roulette. In his first year as director of MI6, Mallory's corporate car was repeatedly ticketed, clamped, and even towed, for double-parking around London. The resulting expenses forced the head of Accounting to make an official note in Mallory’s personnel file: the director of MI6 must no longer have access to a corporate car…unless it also comes with a driver from the motor pool.

James Bond’s file includes an official HR reprimand for flirting with a female visitor to the executive floor. A visitor who turned out to be the operations manager’s wife. Heh’em. While the lady was far from displeased with the attentions, the manager was very cross indeed, and he lodged a strongly worded complaint with HR about Bond’s harassment of women within the building. Bond felt awkward enough about the misunderstanding to cancel the date he’d made with the man's wife. Knowingly cuckolding someone who coordinates all of his real-time mission support seemed...unwise.

Only last month, Alec Trevelyan got written up for flashing. His explanation for the event is that he’d been sparring with Bond…and then showering with Bond…and—as implied by the eyebrow waggle—having sex with Bond. And by the time he’d shaved and left the shower, his clothing was missing, along with every towel in the locker room. Even though Alec was ostensibly the victim of a prank, it was deemed unacceptable for him to walk naked through the halls of MI6, loudly demanding the return of his clothing, and showing his bits and bobs to all of the employees on the lower two floors of SIS.

When Bill Tanner was first brought on as M’s secretary, another member of staff accused him of repeatedly stealing her lunch from the fridge. Tanner was instructed by HR to stop the uncivil behavior forthwith. He tried explaining to the employee that he wasn’t the food thief, but the woman wouldn’t believe him. So Tanner took matters into his own hands and, on a day he knew she would be out on leave, he put his own meal in the refrigerator, laced with laxatives. The resulting mess proved the culprit to be the woman’s cubicle mate. Tanner warned the culprit to stop the food thefts or Tanner would expose them to HR, to their victim, and to M. The culprit transferred to a different branch on a separate floor after a few weeks. The complaint in Tanner’s HR file was never expunged, but he feels satisfied with his own self-vindication.

Eve Moneypenny’s first few weeks transitioning from the field to the executive floor as M’s secretary were…rocky. She’d spent the preceding five years on active field duty for various military and SIS divisions. Receiving passive aggressive response emails from the deputy director’s secretary Bethany—or more frequently, having her emails ignored by Bethany—got under her collar a bit. Moneypenny may have caught up to Bethany in the parking garage one evening and given her a piece of her mind. But it’s not like Moneypenny pulled a weapon or laid a hand on the woman! (She made sure all of her threats were only implied!) After the complaint, assignments were realigned so Moneypenny no longer works directly with Bethany; that dubious pleasure falls to Tanner. Despite the black mark in her personnel file, Moneypenny has to think things worked out in her favor.

Doctor Hall has over two dozen complaints against him in his personnel file, all from disgruntled double-0 agents immediately following their mandatory psychiatric interviews. Field agents don’t like being asked prying questions—no one does!—but Doctor Hall has a diagnostic protocol to follow; it isn’t his fault that they’re already so stressed when they report for their appointments! He fretted over the complaints for a month, until M dismissed them as irrelevant bellyaching. He now considers the complaints an indicator of the agents' psychological stability that they’re threatening him with professional repercussions instead of the guns and knives he knows they’re illegally concealing under their tailored suits and dresses.

#007 fest 2023 #007 fest #teamqbranch #headcanon #last post for Fest!#james bond/alec trevelyan

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anneapocalypse · 1 year

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I think for the first time I'm faced with an Actually Difficult decision when it comes to who to leave in the Fade. Between Alessandra and Loghain it was a no-brainer; that was always the ending I had planned for Loghain. Between Sabine and Alistair it was Sabine because Sabine romanced Merrill if anyone can either find Hawke in the Fade or be compellingly obsessed with finding her in there it's Merrill. Between Cillian and Stroud it was always going to be Stroud because Cillian is truly too ride-or-die for Anders to leave him hanging that way. And between Emilia and Stroud it had to be Emilia because she's truly kind of a monster to the point that even milquetoast pro-Chantry Theodore Trevelyan was unsettled by her.

Between Mallory Hawke and romanced Alistair, it's actually kind of a tough call! On the one hand I've got Mal who did her absolute damnedest not to give a shit until the very end and then surprised everyone by defending the mages and for whom voluntary self-sacrifice would be a massive leap of character growth, and on the other hand I've got Alistair who is not King specifically because benevolent-but-still-kind-of-selfish Warden Jolene Cousland didn't feel like sharing him and for whom losing him would probably force some kind of character growth as well, though in her case it wouldn't be her choice.

Also worth factoring in is that Mal is in a polycule with Merrill and Isabela and while they'll be crushed, they'll have each other to get through it. Jo likewise will grieve Alistair hard but she'll survive it.

It's not even an easy choice from my Inquisitor's perspective because on the one hand Calla likes Varric. a lot. and isn't eager to feed his best friend to a demon. but on the other hand she's a dwarf and brutally pragmatic, and she gets that whatever shit the Grey Wardens have done, we probably still need them.

This game is like "Which one of your OCs do you want to hurt more?" and I'm here like "Is there any way I can hurt them both?" 🤔

#calla cadash #world state: rogues gallery #mallory hawke #jolene cousland #I'VE NEVER HAD THIS MUCH TROUBLE DECIDING #anne plays dai

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mi6-cafe · 2 years

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Long Fic Readalong!

What: We’re going to celebrate longer fanfics by dedicating a few weekends to reading them. This means we’ll read one or two chapters each readalong session.

When: Every Saturday at 9pm eastern/6pm Pacific (your local time here)

Where: We’ll be reading on discord in the readalongs channel. (Invite to discord here)

Okay cool, but what fic? We are reading “Red Queen to Overwatch” by BootsnBlossoms and Kryptaria. (story details below the cut) This week we will be picking up at Chapter 12. Feel free to either catch up or just ask us for a recap.

Please join us to read, to just hang out and listen, and to generally enjoy a good story together!

Red Queen to Overwatch Chapters: 19/19 Fandom: James Bond (Movies), James Bond (Craig Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James Bond/Q Characters: James Bond, Q (Bond - Craig movies), Alec Trevelyan, Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes, John Watson, Mummy (Sherlock), Bill Tanner, Gareth Mallory, Original Characters Additional Tags: Developing Relationship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Angst, Humor, Don’t copy to another site Summary:

After returning from the dead, James Bond moves into a new secure flat, only to find that his new neighbour is either: a scruffy teenager, a brilliant computer geek, a mad scientist, or the sexiest genius he’s ever met. Two of these things turn out to be true.

Well, three, once the Red Queen gets involved.

#long fic readalong

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thestalwartheart · 1 year

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I feel like brosnan bond is craig bond if he was better at hiding how fucked he was... mostly by virtue of the fact he. Kind Of Has No Friends... as I'm writing this it just hit me that, for all his loneliness, craig bond has.. friends! Found family even! M definitely cares about him, moneypenny, q definitely cared qbt him and even Mallory to like the barest extent, gives like somewhat of a shit.

Brosnan bond.. he and dench!m were like professional colleagues but god that bit in DAD was insane.. like. He was tortured for !! 14 Months!!! Jesus fucking christ. He was somewhat friends with Desmond Llewelyn's Q but I never got the feeling that John Cleese's Q ever particularly gave Q a shit about him.

He and moneypenny did feel like friends tho. And oh... Trevelyan... lowkey I thought brosnan bond was lowkey in love with him which is on par for him because he had like the worst relationships ever. Even they weren't, goldeneye definitely had the how could you betray me thing.

Sorry for ranting fjrrj I have many many thoughts abt brosnan bond, he's my babygirl. Also you are right he is SO pretty.

All of this! And it’s now just dawned on me that Felix was never in the Brosnan era films either. I cry.

#thank you for the rant!#ask box

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wonttakeahint · 1 year

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ramblings on japanese fandom

i normally don’t post stuff like this in public, but this account has basically zero followers i feel like it’s okay, maybe. i’ll put it under a cut though so the post won’t be preserved in reblogs (should there be any).

i've been collecting bond dojinshi for a while now. in case anyone is unaware: broadly speaking "dojinshi" is the japanese word for self-published magazines and books, and narrowly speaking it's the word for fanzines, i.e. self-published magazines and books of fanfic and fan comics. this format of fan works is largely obsolete in english-speaking fandom, but dojinshi still thrive in japanese fandom even in this digital day and age.

anyway i've been collecting bond (and adjacent fandom) dojinshi for a few years now. the vast majority of bond dojinshi feature top craig bond x bottom whishaw q, which honestly holds zero interest for me (sorry), but i've browsed through hundreds upon hundreds of books and found some gen comics, a few mallory books, bottom bond books, and such.

i knew, by word of mouth, that dojinshi more focused on goldeneye existed. nothing really popped up in my searches though, and i'd figured they'd be so rare i'd never find them on the second-hand market; selling dojinshi second hand is considered somewhat of a faux pas in japanese fandom to begin with, especially so in fandoms for movies and tv shows, so i knew from the get-go that i'd never find everything published in the bond fandom.

BUT THEN i found it. the holy grail. the dojinshi ALL ABOUT 006 and featuring both beautifully drawn comics and fic by a writer i love (= the alec/craig bond fic i mentioned in an earlier post). honestly it was a stroke of luck; the book wasn't listed under goldeneye or even james bond, it wasn't in stock, it didn't have a cover on the site, and i only found it because i was looking through a listing of a specific artist's dojinshi and my spidy alec-detecting senses tingled. you see, this artist had previously published a dojinshi featuring various bean characters (like boromir and sharpe and a bit of alec) with a title taken from an oasis song... and this mysterious book ALSO had a title taken from an oasis song... so i was literally like

and clicked the "notify me when this is back in stock" button on the site. i didn't expect much to come off it, because i'd have to be pretty darn lucky for a fan to sell THIS particular book from 2005 to a used online bookstore so i could get my hands on it. but then, back in august, i received a notification e-mail. and when i clicked the listing and saw the cover i absolutely LOST. IT.

because um that couldn't be anyone but manga-style alec?!?!?!?! honestly half the reason i'm writing this post is to brag about my acute alec-detecting senses. are you impressed with me? i'm impressed with me. so with shaking hands i ordered it, received it, read it, and now this books sits on my shelves as probably the most priced dojinshi in my collection. (it was like 400 yen)

but that's only half the story. the real reason i decided to write this post is, a while back when i was home sick and bored, i decided to look through this dojinshi artist's professionally published manga. i knew she was a pro, and i knew she'd published mainstream bl (boys love, japanese genre of m/m fiction for a mainly female audience), and although i normally don't read bl i liked this artist's style, so why not. i went to chillchill (a bl release info and review aggregator site) and clicked through her pro works, reading the summaries and reviews... and um.

basically the plot of this particular manga from 2016 is that a green-eyed (!) blond (!!) special agent (!!!) of an unspecified european (!!!!) spy organization (!!!!!) goes undercover in an exclusive sex club for the world's elite and has, uh, stuff done to him. like. it cannot be anything but alec trevelyan woobie fanfic of the sort you'd find on ao3 (or won’t find, because this fandom is weird like that). and i'm not saying that in a "how dare this artist file off the serial numbers and make money off fanfic!!" way, i'm honestly so pleased she published this for me to read and treasure for the ridiculously cheap price of 697 jpy (= five bucks!!!!!!) for the ebook edition?!?!

also at the end of the book she had written a note about this manga having a sequel she’d published years ago in an extra issue of gush (a bl magazine that’s on the sleazy side), so of course like the alec stalker i am i went to mandarake (japanese second-hand otaku goods seller) and tracked it down and ordered it, and i am now in possession of this ridiculous anthology of dozens of bl one-shots i’m never going to read:

lol this cover is the diametrical opposite of anything i’d ever buy out of my own free will and i honestly feel a bit embarrassed having this book on my shelves. the things i do for alec, man. (the artist’s one shot in this book is interesting but all over the place plot-wise, you can really tell she has a sprawling alec trevelyan au epic in her brain that she really wants to express but would need 1000 pages to flesh out properly)

honestly this type of thing isn't that rare, if you follow bl publishing a large chunk of it will be thinly-veiled kakashi/sasuke au fanfic or whatever*, and i've heard about stuff like numbers-filed-off mcu and sherlock popping up in pro bl because those were huge fandoms in japan too, but it's WILD that a movie from 1995 with a pretty small fandom should inspire a pretty well-regarded original bl publication in 2016. the artist isn't all that prolific, but i'll cross my fingers that we might get a sequel or prequel one day.

* loveless

and in case you’re wondering if any of the other bond dojinshi i picked up were any good, this artist’s q x bond stuff is right up my ally and i want to collect it all:

(she’s also published a hannibal x craig bond book i’m eyeing although i intensely dislike both hannibal and mads mikkelsen. what can i say i will do a lot for bottom craig bond content)

#text post #alec trevelyan #tagging for my own reference and i guess if someone wants to go back years into the alec tag to dig this out

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a-gay-bloodmage · 5 years

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—He Died on Mallie’s Sixteenth Birthday—

Pairing: None

Pairing Type: N/A

Words: 2,494

Warnings: Implied Homophobia, Transphobia, and a Whole Host of Bullshit, Gender Dysphoria and Euphoria, Implied Alcoholism, Pretty Fluffy Ending, I Swear There’s Cute Stuff in Here

Mal died that day.

It was supposed to be a day of celebration and happiness, but Mallory Trevelyan only felt empty. He fidgeted with a wine glass in his hand, pressed against the wall in the corner of the ballroom. The band was playing loudly, something upbeat and jubilant, and guests danced accordingly. But Mallory was still, save his awkward wiggling as his body rejected the fancy suit he wore. A dark navy blue and purple, a sash across his waist, and black leather boots. His hair was in a simple low ponytail, tied with a black ribbon.

He felt like he was at a funeral.

He watched the women twirl in their gowns, smiles on their faces as their partners led them around the dance floor. They looked so beautiful, so graceful, so happy. One young woman, a blonde with hair that ran all the way down her back, spun in circles as her partner grinned, her pink dress seeming to float up, teasingly showing off all the mass of tulle and lace beneath that made it bloom out like a flower.

"Come on, Lord Mal," someone said, making him jump. He turned to see a young girl, perhaps his age, smiling up at him. She wore a light yellow dress embroidered with orange and red roses along the bottom. A beautiful piece of craftsmanship. Her dark brown hair was tied up into a large bun, decorated with a crown of yellow spring flowers. "Why aren’t you dancing?"

"I’m, I’m a little tired," he said, forcing himself to laugh off the question. "And this drab garb is just ugh!"

The young lady laughed, hiding her smile with her hand. "It looks wonderful on you, don’t be silly!" She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, looking out at the dance floor. "Such a handsome man as yourself, you can really pull anything off."

He smiled nervously. "That’s awfully nice of you to say," he said, awkward. He took a sip of his wine in an attempt to wet his dry throat.

"Come, please, Lord Mal," she said, her voice low as she offered her hand. "The night’s quite young. Just one dance?"

"Uh," he faltered, "I think there’s plenty others who’d love to dance with you."

The girl’s brows furrowed, a frown setting in on her red lips. "Enjoy your wine, my Lord," she said, curtsying before walking away, obviously insulted. He sighed as he watched her make her way out to the far patio, feeling guilty. He felt like such a typical man, turning down a girl just because he wasn't feeling very up to dancing. The tall, dark stone walls of the castle hall were starting to feel horribly oppressive, and he made his way to the door, trying to avoid notice. He nearly ran head-on into an elven servant, who timidly asked him if he’d like a refill on his wine. He thanked her and made his way out the hall with a full glass. To think he was merely sixteen and already drinking like an aged veteran, he surely brought shame onto his family. Not that he particularly cared, of course.

The cool night air was a welcome relief. Music was slightly muffled as it came through the heavy oak doors behind him. A more somber melody came on—or at least it sounded somber to him. Low notes and heavy drumming rang out as he leaned over the balcony, glass in hand. He heard idle chatter come from down the way, but he paid it no mind. He took a rather uncouth swig from his wine.

His mind wandered back to the girl in the yellow dress.

Mal. Everyone always called him Mal. He hated the name. Mother had always introduced him as such—Mal, her dearest son. He’d taken enough lessons in Orlesian to know it meant nothing but wrong. He drained the rest of his wine.

I hate that stupid name. He glared at the wine glass in his hand, and, in a fit of childish anger, threw it over the side of the balcony. He heard it shatter after a moment on the rocky mountainside below. Why can’t I throw out this stupid name like that? He gripped at the stone railing, his lip curled at the thoughts running through his head. I hate this name! I hate it! A cold mountain breeze ran across the balcony, making him shiver. The nearly full moon above lit his skin like a ghost against the dark blue and purple of his suit. The music from inside grated on his ears.

He was sixteen. He was supposed to be sneaking off with pretty girls and kissing them in dark corners of the castle, getting drunk with other teenage boys and catcalling the pretty guests and elven servants that walked by. He wasn’t supposed to be out here, alone on a balcony wishing he were that beautiful blonde woman inside, twirling about in her lovely pink dress. His face went as white as a sheet as he registered what he had just thought.

Mother would kill me if she knew what I was thinking! His breathing picked up, and he keeled over the railing like he was seasick. His mind kept going back to that woman. Her pink dress. The handsome man spinning her around, and around, and around. Why am I stuck in this awful suit while she gets to wear that? He gazed out at the mountains, their white tops hardly white anymore as winter faded away. His thoughts were becoming more and more girly as he grew older. Thoughts of dressing as the noblewomen did kept crossing his mind with disturbing frequency. He took a hand from the stone railing and undid his hair, letting it fall loose around his face. Slightly better. He looked back and forth down the darkened patio, making sure he could sneak away unnoticed.

He only bumped into three servants on his way to his room, apologizing profusely each time. As he neared the final turn to his chambers, he noticed that the door to mother’s room was ajar. A stupid thought crossed his mind, and, like a fool, he followed where it led.

Mother’s closet was massive—a whole separate room full of beautiful dresses. Frilly and lacy and flowing and just beautiful. It smelled like old perfume and dust. Like what he imagined the Maker’s side to smell like. Heaven. He ran back into her bedchamber and grabbed a candle from the nightstand, lighting it and walking back into the closet.

Just one, he told himself. Just touch it. Just think about it. Don’t do anything stupid. His eyes landed on one near the back, far past the invisible line that separated mother’s beloved dresses from the forgotten treasures. It was baby pink, with frills around the waist and beautiful white lace along the low neckline. Its skirt was full of white lace and tulle and silk, making it puff up like an Orlesian pastry. Oh, Maker, please, do something stupid!

Mallory sprinted back to his chambers, dress in hand. He locked his door and shut his curtains, leaving only the single candle to see by. Faint, slow music drifted up from the grand hall. He held the pink dress in his hands, almost drooling over its beauty.

Mother will kill me if she finds out. She’d kill her only heir without a second thought if she saw him with this. His breathing picked up. Only if she finds out. He braced himself, hands gripping the fabric tightly. “Only if she finds out...” He repeated to himself. He set it down gingerly on the bed and tore off the awful navy and purple suit. Clad in only his linens, he held up the dress and tried to figure out how to get himself into it. He was nearly six feet tall already, and not exactly slim.

First, the slip. Then, the mass of tulle fabric that went underneath. He sucked in his stomach as he pulled on the corset that was thankfully put away with the dress. It hurt, but he’d always heard women say that to be beautiful was to suffer. He managed to work his way into the dress after what felt like ages, and readjusted the muscle and slight fat on his chest to create a faux bosom. He grabbed his brush without looking in the mirror, making sure his hair wasn’t a knotted mess. He tossed the brush onto his bed and took a deep breath.

“You can do this, Mallory,” he told himself, eyes closed as he made his way to the three angled mirrors in the corner of his bedroom. “Just take a peek, see how foolish you look. Put this stupid fascination behind you.” He slowly opened his eyes and looked at his reflection, preparing for the worst.

A woman stood in the mirrors, looking back at him shyly. She seemed taken aback, anxious to meet him. He was a Trevelyan, after all. She reached her hand out as Mallory did, and when they touched, all he felt was cold glass.

I’m... her... He looked at the reflection with wide eyes. He wondered how he’d look with makeup on, his hair braided, all dolled up like a princess. She’s... she’s...

"Beautiful!" His voice was breathy and airy, like a young woman meeting a beautiful queen. "I’m, I’m so... pretty!" Tears spilled forth from his bright blue eyes, rolling down freckled cheeks. His hand dragged down the mirror as he fell to his knees. "No, no, this isn’t me," he said, voice shaking. "I’m not pretty," he spat at the reflection. Tears flowed faster. The sound of a happy waltz from the hall below hardly registered in his ears. "I’m just a stupid boy playing in his mother’s clothes." His other hand reached out to touch the mirror, the reflection reaching out to him in return. The soft orange glow of the candlelight made his tears shimmer. "I could never be pretty if I’m so ugly inside..." Mother’s words haunted him. She always spoke of his flaws, his inability to be a proper young man an ugliness that would soon taint him like a Blight’s plague. "Mallory isn’t pretty," he sighed, shaking his head.

She’s not Mallory. He shook away the thought. Of course she was. It was just him in a dress. The girl in the mirror wasn’t a girl at all. No. She doesn’t have to be Mallory. The mirror was now warm where his hand pressed against it.

"Not Mallory, huh?" He asked the reflection. The reflection seemed to contemplate the same question in return. "Not Mallory..." His face scrunched up as he thought. "Just... Mallie." He paused as the reflection seemed to speak instead of him. "Mallie." The name was so similar on his tongue, and yet so different.

Mallie was the name of a tempting young woman, who hid a smile behind a fan as she flirted with a ruggedly handsome man. Mallie was the name of a social butterfly, dancing and laughing as she fluttered about a hall that overflowed with wine and music, her pink dress and long blonde hair and bold makeup catching everyone’s eyes in the best way possible.

Mallie wasn’t Mal.

Mal was the name of young man struck by nothing but bad luck and anxiety, forced into suits he didn’t want to wear as a mother’s hand held his arm far too tight. Mal was the name of a man who hated nothing more than himself, despising how all he ever seemed to be was a failure of a nobleman.

Mallory liked Mallie. He liked her so much more than Mal. He looked over at his right hand, and remembered the wine glass that now sat shattered on the mountain rocks. Mal could be that wine glass—broken and useless, discarded. Except Mal was never beautiful, never held anything that brought anyone joy. Mallie was this pink dress, stolen from mother and made his own. The reflection smiled, and the pain in his jaw told him the smile was his own. He never smiled so wide. He stood, and looked in the reflection. Then he gave the dress an experimental twirl. It blossomed out, just like that woman’s. He spun again, imagining that it was a beautiful man that spun him, a grin beneath his beard as he gazed at the princess in his hands. The music from the hall floated up through the walls, and he found himself truly dancing for the first time in years. He nearly tripped over the massive amount of tulle several times, but he didn’t care. He’d practice and practice, and one day, he’d be more ladylike and graceful than any noblewoman ever born.

He collapsed on his bed as the music ebbed away, his chest rising and falling ever so rapidly, sweat rolling down the side of his face. The dress was tight and hot, constricting his breathing and making his back ache. He’d never been happier. He stared up at the ceiling, watching the flickering orange light of the candle make the shadows waltz along the woodwork.

Eventually, he decided it was time to take off the dress, and he did so with a heavy, yet full, heart. He carefully packed it away in the furthest corner of his closet, carefully stored where he could find it, but where nobody would accidentally stumble upon it. He kissed it and closed the lid of the once empty trunk.

As he walked back to bed, he noticed himself in the mirror. His reflection showed a muscular—though slightly chubby—man, with pudge on his stomach and a fairly pronounced rear end. He smiled almost shyly at the reflection, holding back a girlish giggle as he noticed the lines from the corset on his stomach and sides. Holding the candle carefully with one hand, he grabbed a pectoral with the other, moving it to see how big he could make his Mallie’s breasts. He chuckled to himself as he thought about using wool socks to stuff some undergarments with. His eyes wandered downward, and he sighed at the rather large thing between his legs. He rolled his eyes at the thought of it getting any bigger as he got older. A fluffy skirt could easily hide it, so he wasn’t all too worried about it. Perhaps he could learn to tuck it away, too, if Mallie ended up liking trousers in addition to skirts. He shook his head, blond hair swaying as he smiled to himself. He crawled into bed, leaving the mirrors behind, and blew out the candle.

In the dark, he was just Mallory, someone just now realizing what it meant to be himself. Even if being himself meant being herself sometimes. He smiled as a final conscious thought went through his head.

Mal’s gone, isn’t he? He died on Mallie’s sixteenth birthday.

#mallie's birthday #i have had this written for a WHILE #original content #dragon age #fanfiction #Mallory trevelyan #da inquisitor #I love mallie so much??? he's such a good baby boy???#this is a very very character-building-y fic like most of my birthday fics are #all of my birthday fics are fanservice #the fan being me #only me #and maybe the handful of you that enjoy my lovely little morons

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theyhaveacavetroll · 2 years

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Chapters: 2/? Fandom: James Bond (Craig Movies), James Bond (Brosnan Movies), James Bond (Movies 1962-1989) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: M | Gareth Mallory/Raoul Silva | Tiago Rodriguez, James Bond/Alec Trevelyan Characters: M | Gareth Mallory, Raoul Silva | Tiago Rodriguez, James Bond, Alec Trevelyan Additional Tags: Aftermath of Torture, Fluff and Angst, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Not Canon Compliant, 007 Fest, Implied/Referenced Torture, Chronic Pain, Canon Disabled Character, more tags to come as i write more chapters, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort Series: Part 8 of Rescue Verse Summary:

“Teach me what all of these do,” Gareth says one day. It’s nice, Tiago thinks, to have a partner who wants to know this about him. He’s never experienced this before - but then again, the last time he had a partner, he hadn’t needed any of the pill bottles now located in the cabinet.

Or: The Rescue crew navigate their new normal, hard as that can be after what they've been through.

#James Bond #Alec Trevelyan #james bond/alec trevelyan #00 husbands #Gareth Mallory #Raoul Silva #Tiago Rodriguez

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theblueharlequin · 1 year

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Chapters: 6/6 Fandom: James Bond (Craig Movies), Supernatural, James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, GoldenEye (1995) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Raoul Silva | Tiago Rodriguez/Sam Winchester, Eve Moneypenny/Sam Winchester, M | Gareth Mallory/Sam Winchester, James Bond/Sam Winchester, Alec Trevelyan/Sam Winchester, Q (James Bond)/Sam Winchester Characters: Sam Winchester, Raoul Silva | Tiago Rodriguez, Eve Moneypenny, M | Gareth Mallory, James Bond, Alec Trevelyan, Q (James Bond) Additional Tags: Never Repost My Work Anywhere, Linking is Fine, Crack, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fanon Alec Trevelyan, Magic, 5+1 Things, 007 Fest 2020, Team Civilian, no beta we die like Bond girls Series: Part 29 of Adventures of the Sailing Ship Sam Winchester, Part 4 of Blue's 007 Fest 2020 Fics, Part 5 of Sam and Her Majesty's Secret Service Summary:

Alternate ways File Not Found could have gone. 5+1 fic, where someone else in the James Bond universe ended up being Sam’s soulmate.

#Sam Winchester #Supernatural #Adventures of the SS Sam Winchester #my fanfiction #my writing #James Bond #Q #Alec Trevelyan #Eve Moneypenny #Gareth Mallory

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isssskra · 3 years

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Fuck it. New blog. Owning the fic on AO3 under TheIskra.

Unrepentant lover of Bond Mallory Trevelyan.

#alec trevelyan #gareth mallory #James Bond

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samanthahirr · 11 months

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Hosiery Habit Headcanons

Bond washes his socks by hand, every day. Every pair of socks, no matter where he is, whether at home or on a mission. He learned in the Navy that you can never have enough pairs of clean socks (he will never speak of that month-long assignment to the rain forests of Guatemala EVER), so he religiously washes his used socks each night before sleep and lays them out to dry before he packs them away in the morning.

Felix introduces Bond to his pair of lucky socks on their first joint mission. On a Sunday morning, when Bond dons thick wool socks for their hike through the Andes, Felix slides on his lucky socks and sends his thoughts heavenward for a much-needed victory. That night, when Bond points out that Felix’s lucky socks let them down—their mission having fallen apart spectacularly—Felix checks the score on his phone and scoffs that they made two interceptions in the final quarter and won by 7 points. Bond gives him a queer look. Maybe Bond doesn’t believe in sports rituals, but Felix will do whatever it takes to support his favorite team; even if he can’t attend in person, he’s not gonna let the Saints down.

Moneypenny wears plain hose at MI6 (with the exception of her monthly, when she wears the pairs with extra tummy shaping), nude with no embellishments. Although there was one memorable holiday party when she purchased and wore a pair of full-fashioned stockings with the seam up the back that caused quite a kerfuffle. There were so many collisions and bruises amongst the staff attributed to her hosiery that HR had to request that she restrict their use to extracurricular occasions only.

Tanner makes a point of dressing appropriately and not drawing undue attention to himself. However, he has a sizable collection of novelty socks courtesy of his children’s gifts over the years, and he takes comfort in having a piece of his home life with him when at his stressful job.

Q is not a morning person and, as such, can’t be arsed to tell the difference between navy and black when getting dressed before dawn. He doesn’t give a shit whether his socks match his trousers; he has more important concerns on his mind, thank you very much. And outside of the office, he avoids socks altogether; barefoot in loafers or trainers is his preferred style.

MI6 Medical released an emergency advisory in 2019: No toe socks in the office! The infernal footwear became all the rage in 2018, and they did no harm so long as staff wore proper footwear to protect their feet in hazardous areas. But when a Q Branch technician reported to Medical limping badly, staff were appalled to find that he’d shoved his toe-socked foot into a colleague’s borrowed footwear to enter one of the more hazardous labs, and the toe-sock seams had cut off circulation to more than one toe over the course of three hours. Never again!

Alec learned early in life the importance of blending in and conforming to expectations. It earned him a reputation for being steady and dependable at the orphanage and later in the Navy. One of the easiest ways to conform was to mimic the styling of the most respected person around you. At school, it was the head boy. In the Navy, it was his commanding officer. And at MI6, it’s Bond, whose style is the fiddliest to imitate. (Those bespoke suits cost a bloody fortune!) Most obnoxious are Bond’s favorite silk-blend socks, which are nonabsorbent and require delicate washing. But Alec bides his time, keeps in line, wears the damn socks, and passes himself off as a loyal operative while he makes plans for his eventual defection….

Mallory dated a peer a couple decades back; a handsome fellow who cut a very fashionable figure. Mallory has some fond memories of their time together, as well as a keepsake set of platinum cuff links…and an unfortunate kink for sock garters. Mallory resolutely doesn’t own or wear any himself, but he’s aware that Bond and Trevelyan wear them on occasion. He does his best not to think about that when they’re seated across from him, their trouser hems riding up their ankles, eyeing how taut their socks are pulled, and wondering.

Madeleine has always hated the cold, and Altaussee is a bleak wasteland of tourists and ice. Her office, with its impractical exterior glass walls, is always two degrees lower than the interior rooms, and her usual hose doesn’t keep her ankles warm enough for a full day of listening to billionaires’ midlife crises. She’s taken to keeping a pair of double-layer cabin socks under her desk, and she kicks off her high heeled pumps and slides the cozy socks on overtop her hose every time she has an appointment in her blasted icebox of an office.

The sweaters that Q’s cats wear are cozy. The sweaters are warm. The sweaters feel like safety and Q’s gentle fingers sliding them on. But once a year, there is more. There are hats. There are strange collars. And there are socks. The socks are the enemy. They are confinement. They are slipping imbalance. The socks slide on like punishment for imagined crimes. Q lifts his cats and places them on the cat tree. Q coos, “Don’t you look precious.” A shutter clicks, and his fingers are no longer in the way, no longer trying to stop the inevitable. The socks are prey. They must be destroyed. Long claws pierce them. Rend them. Teeth dig in, merciless, and shake them limp. Dead socks taste of cotton victory. “Sorry darlings,” Q laughs. Surely Q will learn from this. There will not be socks again. “Not for another year,” Q promises.

#007 fest 2023 #007 fest #007 #james bond #headcanon day #teamqbranch

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