Pink Cloud 11

Random note: So it's been... A long while, since I posted any fic. A very long while. But for however many people here would still like to read something of mine, I've spend the past few months frantically writing with a new RP partner, Only_1_Truth, who has so many amazing James Bond/Q fics already to her name. We've finally just about finished the monster we've been obsessing over working on, so now we're posting!

~When the Sky Falls~
Authors: Only_1_Truth and ginnyvos
Fandom: James Bond
Pairings: James Bond/Q
Raring: M
Warnings: Alternate Universe, Slow Burn, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Unavoidable 00-agent violence, Oblivious idiots (but what else is new), Badass!Q, Badass!Bond, Badass!OCs, Epic Banter, Implied violence with sandcastles, "Sleepwalking", Accidental minions

Summary:
Quint hates planes. Quint really, really hates planes. But with MI6 hunting him down, he hasn't got much of a choice but to get on one. He should've known better. He really should've known better.

In which there is a plane crash, a deserted island, accidental minions, a lot of miscommunication, sleepwalking (sort of), a very creepy Silva and more.

Finished work, updates twice a week.

Author's Note:
Most of this was written by way of frantically typing at each other (occasionally without even letting the other one finish) and lots of enthusiastic yelling over chat. There was a lot of getting up absurdly early in the mornings (Only_1_Truth) and staying up way past bedtimes (ginnyvos), a lot of unplotted plot-twists, stealth writing during work hours, some very questionable google-searches and general addiction and preoccupation. Also mayhem.

This monster is the result of that. Bond and Silva are all Only_1_Truth, and Q is all ginnyvos (even though, sad as we are to admit this, we own none of these characters). Sam and the minions are ginnyvos' babies, but occasionally borrowed by Only_1_Truth, who had to admit that maybe they weren't so bad... For OC's.

We sincerely hope you enjoy reading this monster as much as we enjoyed writing it, and we hope that you won't be as ready to go after us with pitchforks for the occasional cliffhanger as we did with each other. Also, ginnyvos takes no responsibility if after this, you will never be able to look at sandcastles the same way again. That's all Only_1_Truth's fault!

Complete work (as far as we've posted so far)

Prologue, in which Bond is buying people drinks when he really shouldn't, and Q really should've known better than to get on board of a bloody plane.

Chapter 1, in which someone has to do something, and also, Q really should've known better.... We also get unexpected heroes, unexpected trouble, and the general panic that comes from dealing with a wrecked plane + injured/scared people. Good thing Q's stuck right in the middle of it.

Chapter 2, in which there are pop-culture references running rampant (gotta catch 'em all...), Bond does a very good impression of a lug and competence is sexy, but Quint is not so easily seduced. Also, more badassery.

Ode to the one thing that makes life bearable

The sun on your face,
From where the curtains don't close,
Find your way through the maze,
That the sandman chose.

The night is long over,
New dawn broke hours ago,
You try to turn over,
But know a lost case when you see one and so;

Turn over one more time,  roll over the edge of your beloved bed,
Warm feet hit cold, cold floor,
The tone for a new day is set,
And you stumble through your bathroom door.

Spray of hot water,
Right onto your sleepy (sleeping?) face,
Waking up will have to happen later,
For now everything remains a sleepy haze.

Down the stairs and set the kettle,
On the stove without a thought,
By the table now you settle,
Thinking that you really aught-

A sharp whistle tears sweet silence,
Of your early morning haze,
Breaks through thoughts with early morning violence,
And for the first time,  brings a smile upon your face.

As you breathe in the stream,
Of today's first cup of tea,
For the first time it would seem,
Today might actually be a good place to be.

What's the difference between an IT-helpdesk costumer and a wall?

The sun is shining, the tea is hot and the costumers are most definitely NOT daft. Day's off to a great start people!

(You might want to invest in some more complicated phones).

And I'm back in business!

Sometimes people conspire to show you that the world is actually a really, really amazing place, as long as you give it a chance to be amazing.

After worrying and stressing about it for weeks, I swallowed my pride last night and asked people on facebook if they had any kitchen appliances available that I could buy cheaply. I'm moving in January and don't have a lot of money, but need to improvise a complete kitchen.

Sixteen hours later, I've had enough offers to compile not one but two kitchens, most of it either free or very nearly so. Some of the people who offered, I barely even know (and one of them I don't know at all). I'm a bit overwhelmed and so, so grateful.

All IT-helpdesk employees are secretly teleporting psychics! (It's just that nobody but this guy knew about it)

Sometimes I sit down and write. I don't think about it, I don't even really make stuff up, I just write. It's like there's this story or poem in my head and all I have to do is write it down. Like there's a narrator all I have to do is put the narrative on paper. Once that's done, more often than not, I give the file some redundant name and close it, because I'll usually be late for whatever I should've been doing in the time that I just spend typing out this story or poem. Then I forget about it.

You read that correctly: I forget about it. Once in a while, I have this thing where I click random files in my writing or poetry folder and just read and let myself be surprised. I'll often have only the vaguest recollection of writing it. It's undoubtedly mine. My style of writing, my signature, my particular brand of spelling errors. More often than not, it's even pretty good. But it's like it was in my head, needed out and once it was out it was done and okay to forget about. All these forgotten stories and poems have three hallmarks:

1. They are all first person and, stemming from that, usually flow of consciousness writing. When I consciously write, I always write third person.
2. They all have a certain flow in the writing that is nearly lyrical, even the prose.
3. They don't cover my usual subject matter

So does anyone else recognize this? Is this what people talk about when they talk about muses or 'divine inspiration'? Or am I just bonkers and dramatizing something that's really normal? Just curious.

And here I thought I used the word 'really' too much. Really.

When I first started working at the IT-helpdesk I kept being surprised at how damn accurate the IT-crowd was. I'd never quite suspected for THIS particular episode to come true though...

When fiction is so accurate it's scary... And kind of unsafe and ridiculous.