this is kind of an unrelated rant but i do also think western society has a weird fixation on Breastsâąïž like ive heard countless stories of people trying to get breast reductions and the drs refusing to do it or purposefully doing it wrong (ie taking them down to a c-cup when they wanted to be an a-cup) people were legit angry/upset when angelina jolie got her mastectomy as if she'd personally wronged them there is literally a breast cancer foundation called "save the tatas" as though a woman losing her tits is more important than a woman losing her life. making your breasts bigger is fine but making them smaller or (shock horror!) getting rid of them is considered deeply strange. and i think that's why top surgery is viewed as some kind of hideous irrevocable mutilation by so many people, because they have this bizarre need to treat an ordinary body part that approx. 50% of the population has as either public property or a symbol of Divine Womanhood or whatever the fuck. it's so stupid i hate it
I recently started working in hospitality, and Iâll tell you guys right now, the trope of âthere was only one bedâ is not as rare as youâd think in real life. A few times a week, at least, I have guys come in who are working together on projects in town or passing through who have to literally book the last room I have available for the night and lo and behold â there is only one bed, and guess what, they give each other a side-eyed look and begrudgingly take it. So write it up, it happens all the time!!!
Never let your There Was Only One Bed dreams die. I was secretly in love with my best friend for over a year when she graduated and moved to Oklahoma (like 1000 miles away) for grad school. Between that travel restrictions, we were so scared weâd never see eachother again.
At the end of summer, when Covid numbers were at a lower point, I took the risk to visit her in her new apartment and I quickly realized that, unlike when Iâd spent the night at her house before, the couch wasnât made up like a bed. She explained that since her new couch was so fancy and pink, I couldnât possibly sleep on it, and so I needed to sleep in the bed with her. You know, out of necessity. I woke up with her snuggled around me in the middle of the night.
Weâre dating now, and I genuinely think Iâm going to marry her. Just the other day, though, I mentioned that if she hadnât been weird about her fancy couch, I probably never would have like confessed my feelings. AND THEN she stood up, took the cushions off the fancy couch, UNFOLDED IT INTO A HIDE-A-BED, and said âI KNOW.â
THIS GIRL. ORCHESTRATED. BED SCARCITY. JUST SO SHE COULD MAKE THE âONLY ONE BEDâ EXCUSE. Yâall when I said I just about lost my goddamn mind, I just about lost my goddamn mind. I love this sneaky bitch so much and the moral of this story is BE THE ONE BED YOU WANT TO SEE IN THE WORLD.
This is so sweet! Thank you for taking this art prompt~ âĄ
During his Medical-enforced down time, 007 takes to haunting his current shagâs friendâs with benefits loverâs maybe-boyfriendâs letâs be honest theyâre practically flatmates Quartermasterâs domain. Bond notices almost immediately - given his profession it would have been worrisome if he hadnât - how Q is excluded from the cooperative feeding system that seems to exist in the young manâs division.
Analysts and junior quartermasters and engineers wander in and out of each otherâs space, taking a sweet from a bowl here, pinching a biscuit from a resealable bag there. When one person gets up to brew a cuppa, they poke their heads into their neighborsâ workspaces and scoop up any cold or empty mugs they find. Whenever anyone decides to venture out into the world for food, they call out their destination to the room at large and see if any notes (sticky and pound) pop up with requests. Bond even finds himself included via eye contact and inquiring eyebrows, once the Q Branchers gets used to the presence of an armed agent loitering about.
Q never tacks an order on, which might just be sensitivity to any perception of taking advantage of his direct reports, but it doesnât explain how no one ever cruises by him when walking a plate of biscuits around, or gathers up empty mugs and heads to the break room. Itâs not overdone awe, either. They include their chief in jokes and gossip and other non-consumables with ease, and when observation gains him no further insights, Bond decides to gather intel.
âOh, itâs just his thing,â Lakshmi says with a smile and a shrug. âHas to make or at least have eyes on his own food and drink the whole way. Understandable, since heâs been slipped things before, you know.â
He hadnât known, actually, because he hasnât encountered it.
They donât eat out because Q is a homebody and James gets enough of glamour and glitz on the job. And since Q hosts, Bond takes it upon himself to cook, and heâs never known Q to not clean his plate. (Have to keep up their strength for all the athletic sex, after all.) Sometimes Bond even feeds the young man tidbits from his serving. Occasionally, right from his fingers. And when Q becomes occupied with a puzzle to solve, Bond keeps him fed and watered at regular intervals by tapping cherry-red lips with the brim of a warm mug or a forkful of pasta. Green eyes never waver from the screen, but the mouth pops open obediently and closes on hums of gratitude. One time he simply tapped his fingertips against Qâs lips and then found himself being gnawed upon.
Bondâs always found it amusing. Now that he knows itâs also a sign of uttermost trust, he finds it touching, too.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Arthurâs mouth dropped open in surprise. âMerlin, you donât need to⊠I donât want you to feel obligated.â
âAre you only attracted to me because Iâm your personal assistant? Is it the power imbalance that gets you off?â
âNo! Of course not. I mean, it does now, but only because of you.â Arthur raked a hand through his golden hair. âWhat I did was inappropriate. Itâs true I am attracted to you and I did fantasize about you. I completely understand if you no longer feel comfortable working here.â
Arthur really was thick. At least he had his looks.
My apologies; I had good intentions but it ended up being a GoldenEye/Skyfall hybrid mainly focused on 006/007 with hints of 00Q and JAQ.
âIn from the Coldâ, a deca-drabble (100 words x 10).
- - - - -
Q Branch hummed, everyone in their place and doing their job. On one of the screens mounted on the front wall, a known arms dealer sipped bottom-shelf tequila at a seedy hotel bar and waited for a potential new client.
A potential new client that MI6 had removed and replaced via double-oh.
Q perked up as a green blip tagged [007] flared into life, then moved through a wireframe of the hotel, going from room to lift to lobby. The Quartermaster had about as much patience for the âhurry up and waitâ parts of a mission as the field agents.
- - - - -
âMister Fairfield?â A smooth voice crackled in over the agentâs earpiece.
Their mark looked up, coincidentally almost directly at the lobby camera MI6 had hijacked, quickly taking in neatly trimmed blond hair, broad shoulders in a bespoke suit, and probably a suave smirk to top it all off.
âPerhaps,â he replied cautiously. âYou are?â
The blond glanced to the side, shaking his head to send an approaching bartender away and showing the camera his chiseled profile.
âBond. James Bond. Shall we take this conversation somewhere more private?â
âWho the hell is that?!â Q demanded, pointing at the agent.
- - - - -
He the hell was Alec Trevelyan, former 006 and apparently not as KIA as Six had thought.
Q pulled everyone that he could from their work and divided them into three teams, tasking them with a) routing the nearest agent to the hotel to locate and extract Bond, b) digging up everything they could on Trevelyan from birth through supposed death and on to the present with a special focus on why he was doing whatever he was doing, and c) continuing to track the arms dealer and salvaging the mission.
Q himself took a deep breath and rang Mallory.
- - - - -
Olivia Mansfield, God rest her, had kept some secrets very close indeed. Too close, in the end.
Thereâd been time enough for thinking on the drive to Skyfall, but also plenty of subjects to keep her occupied. Too occupied to recall that with Boothroydâs passing, the GoldenEye mission no longer had any surviving designated survivors. When she failed to return, Trevelyan was as thoroughly lost as the eyes-only, do-not-copy mission file that had rested in a secret panel in Mâs office.
Heâd already been working naked, with only sporadic contact.
Now, no exfil. He wouldnât even realize it for weeks.
- - - - -
Malloryâd meant to redecorate anyway, judging the symbolism to justify the expense. The transition had been more challenging than predicted, however, and now Mallory was installed as M in a new office with an even bigger mess to clean up than initially anticipated.
He was a pragmatist. Had to be. The loss of Mansfieldâs - God rest her - knowledge could be overcome, as could the loss of personnel, tragic though it was. Q assured him that the data loss was minimal despite the push toward paperlessness barely begun. Mallory worried still, that something had slipped through the cracks.
His phone rang.
- - - - -
Heâd been under deep cover for months making dangerous deals and bedfellows, but last night had been the most harrowing. The most fun, too.
Heâd nearly been shot when initially breaking into Jamesâs room. Understandable. Once the lights were on thereâd been shock and joy and anger hitting 007 like a series of blows, and then theyâd tried to murder each other a little bit.
Theyâd talked. And fucked. And James had punched him again. But in the end theyâd left together, partners once more, leaving behind Alecâs handprint on the mirror and all but one of Jamesâs tracking devices.
- - - - -
Having James at his side - and an upgraded arsenal, courtesy of the late Mr. Fairfield - made everything almost easy. The goal of bringing Ourumov in (or putting him down) and stealing GoldenEye was now attainable, and Alec bitterly wondered if heâd not have had to lose so much time if only M had seen fit to send him help instead of keeping him completely isolated.
Orphans didnât need to stay orphans to be useful agents.
The only real challenge that remained was a scrawny hacker named Boris, but James smirked and said he knew someone who was good with computers.
- - - - -
James proved that he hadnât lost an iota of charm by sweet talking the new Quartermaster into committing treason for him (again, apparently). Alec was impressed when doors unlocked and environmentals turned homicidal, and by the time Boris got his suddenly obsolete self killed, Alec was halfway in love with this magical new Q himself.
What the brilliant boffin couldnât do remotely, the double-oh duo executed themselves. They sowed chaos up one side of the satellite control center and death down the other, getting away in the end with a GoldenEye lens and a memory drive replete with stolen goodies.
- - - - -
They escaped from Cuba and recuperated in Jamaica, where James always seemed to relax best. For Alec, having someone he trusted by his side was what felt like home. They didnât rest long, however, because M (a man named Mallory, now) was waiting and they had quite a bit of explaining and convincing to do.
He hadnât expected any different, but the interminable interrogation and incarceration chafed. James was released after two weeks and benched for four, and managed to visit despite orders to the contrary. He smuggled in vodka and whispered that Q was diligently working on Alecâs exculpation.
- - - - -
He was finally released, and headed straight for Q Branch.
âMy savior and redeemer!â Alec cried, enjoying how exquisitely the young man resembled a startled fawn, all doe eyes and long limbs and attention pinned on a possible threat.
â006 at your service,â he murmured, crowding in close and clasping a pale hand in both of his so that he could bow over it. âYou know, James always shares everything with me, but he wouldnât give me your number. I think Iâm jealous, unless thereâs room in your favor for me too?â
More Important Than Pie
Author: @buckybarnesdeservestobehappy (AO3)
Artist: @massivespacewren (AO3)
Fic Rating:Â PG-13
Art Rating: G
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, mentions of past criminal behavior
Relationship: James âBuckyâ Barnes/Tony Stark
Characters: James âBuckyâ Barnes, Tony Stark, Winifred Barnes, Howard Stark, Maria Stark, Obadiah Stane
Word count: 5280
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