#wickswords

[wickswham]

imo there are not nearly enough Boromir lives au's out there.

which is why I'm 10k into writing one whoops

[wickswham]

Whatever you do, don't think about how lonely Boromir must have been.

His father shoved him to the top of a pedestal, touting the golden son for the White City to see. Look at this shining Man of Gondor, glistening with goodness and perfection.

His men didn't touch him. He could call for ale, but not drink among them. They would not sling their arms around his shoulder in comradery or pull him close so their whispering could be heard above the din. The easy affection men held for one another was not for him. He had only his brother, but even that tenderness was tainted by his father.

To touch Boromir was to tarnish the realm's last hope. And no Man of Gondor would risk such a thing.

(Until the hope was gone, and all that was left was the man. Boromir the Man could be caressed, his face held gently in the hands of his king. Boromir the Man could be kissed. And he was. And as he breathed his last breath, he was cherished, and he was no longer alone.)

[wickswham]

I'm thinking about asexual Kent Parson

[wickswham]

Are there any Boromir time loop fics out there? This feels like too good of a premise for those to not exist

[wickswham]

I need someone to scream about The Gilded Age with

[wickswham]

The world kept turning. 

MI6 mourned for approximately one day before it went back to business as usual. Standard protocol, of course. Dying was in the job description for double-oh's. Bond was no different (he wasn’t special). M toyed with the idea of retiring the call number but ultimately decided against it. There's no room for sentiment in their line of work.

The double-oh's all mourned in their own ways. Most of them were out on missions. Q broke the news to 004 while she was waiting for intel at a high society bar in Singapore. Scarlett didn’t say a word about Bond, but Q listened to her order the same martini over and over throughout the night until even she couldn’t shoot straight. 003 was in Peru going after an arms dealer. Jack swore at the news, and he beat the next adversary he came across to a bloody pulp.

Trevelyan was in deep cover somewhere west of Siberia when 007 died. Q wasn't there for his debrief when he returned to England, but, according to Moneypenny, M dropped the news and not an hour later 006 had completely disappeared. M was worried about what he might do; Q already knew. Bond was Trevelyan’s best friend. He crawled into some dank hole to mourn and rage in peace. Q tried not to feel envious.

Nomi took to stopping by Q’s flat between her missions. Usually without notice, though she did occasionally text to get his takeout order. The first time she came by, Q was halfway through a bottle of whisky and onto the second Matrix movie. It was a week after 007, his 007, died and the night after his funeral. She didn’t say a word about the state Q was in. All she did was make grabby hands at the bottle and plop down next to him. 

The visits became a frequent venture. Nomi would break in with take out, give his cats the love they deserve, and crash onto his sofa for a film. Q didn’t have the heart to tell her she’d adopted Bond’s old habit—mostly because he was worried she’d stop.

A month passed. Nomi dropped in with chicken curry and a bottle of Tempranillo. They were halfway through The Big Sick when Q finally scrounged up the courage to ask. “Why do you keep coming by?”

She stabbed her chicken. “Would you like me to be honest?”

“Preferably, yes.” Q rolled his eyes. Damned double-ohs. He watched her chew on her answer for a moment. 

“I work with you every day, Q. I see how you care for your agents.” Q fought the blush that threatened to rise. As much as they drove him mad, Q had a…healthy respect for those who went in the field. If he paid them extra care, no one could blame him. It’s his job to keep them safe (as much as they can be) and well-equipped.

Nomi looked at him. “It was different with Bond. With James.”

Q’s whole body tensed. He nearly dropped the wine glass in his hands. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You loved him.” 

Nomi was not the first person to accuse him of loving James Bond. Tanner pulled Q aside after Skyfall and issued a rather mortifying warning about falling for double-oh’s. Moneypenny caught him right before Nine Eyes, making cooing noises and talking about potential wedding dates like the prick she is. Even Madeleine Swann gave him knowing looks as Q and Nomi helped her settle Bond’s affairs.

Q went to deny it like he always did. But he’d spent the last month working 16-hour shifts and coming home to his cats. A month of going through his day as though nothing had changed. As though they weren’t living in a world where James Bond was dead. He was so tired.

His silence spoke for him. He caught Nomi’s eye and sighed.

She didn’t give him a pitying smile or try to extend comfort. Instead, she reached for the bottle of wine and topped off his glass. “I keep coming by because the least I can do for the man who saved the world is care for the people he loved.”

A scratchy feeling crawled up his throat. Q’s vision grew blurry with unshed tears. Bond loved Q, not in the way Q loved Bond, but he did. It didn’t feel like enough, but it was all Q had.

Nomi held her glass out to him. “To James.”

Q tapped his own against the side. “To James.”

I don’t know what this is, all I know is it was only supposed to be ~150 words lmao

[wickswham]

Do you think Madeleine worries Mathilde will forget him? She's so young, only 5 years old, and while Madeleine is well aware of the developmental stages that occur in children at this age, she also knows one of the earliest memories she has is putting a bullet into Safin.

So she talks about James. Even though it hurts, even though grief floods through her at every mention of his name. Madeleine Swann sits with her daughter and talks about the man who saved the world. Not the MI6 agent, not the assassin. She talks about James.

How he took his coffee and what he ate for breakfast. How fast he drove and how he liked to swim. The soft, grumbling tones of his voice (Mathilde giggles at Madeleine's impressions). He had rough, calloused hands but feather-light touches. She whispers to Mathilde, like its a secret to be kept, "he liked to snuggle." Just as the two of them do every night.

It isn't Madeleine's job to ensure the world remembers Agent Bond, 007. Whether MI6 memorialized him for what he did or never utters his name again is no concern of hers. Her job is to hold James in her mind, and share everything she can with his daughter. So they can remember him together.

[wickswham]

i wish we had gotten more of madeleine and mathilde's domestic life (preferably with bond but without him is fine) before they get kidnapped. i wanted more of a sense of how madeleine interacted with mathilde daily

I'm so sorry I'm just getting to this! Totally agree. More of Madeleine being a good mom, because you just know she was.

I can picture her trying so hard not to be an overbearing parent, but also working to be the support system she didn't get as a child.