bakerstreet | A Picture is Worth... Meme.

A Picture is Worth... Meme.

A Picture is Worth.... Meme
This ain't your mama's meme. Forget your RNG, forget your tired old prompts.
A picture is worth a thousand words.
It's easy. Comment with your character. Then go comment around.
But instead of pre-filled prompts with words or numbers, you find a gif or image (any gif/image from any canon or scenario you please) that sets the scene.
The picture is the prompt.

WARNING: THIS POST WILL BE IMAGE HEAVY. AND POSSIBLY NSFW AND THERE MAY BE TRIGGERS.
Some images will not be able to be hidden behind cuts, so please be aware that triggery material may be found within.

If you post an image that is violent or sexual in nature please LINK it, do not embed it into the comment.

Feel free to use this template to stick your image in there.

Good resources for images/gifs are weheartit or tumblr. For not so safe for work gifs/images go here and here.

Original Meme here.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( q's life is his work, and his work is his life. frankly, he doesn't know any other way of living, and neither has one ever been presented to him. he doesn't have interpersonal relationships beyond the offices of MI6, where men and women older and more experienced than he is address him as sir, as befitting his status as head of the department. the agency always chooses the best, those ready to lay it all on the line for queen and country.

bond's line, not his. he doesn't claim patriotism to be his motivation.

and he certainly doesn't go on holidays. if there are days off to be had, q spends it planted firmly in his apartment, clad in flannel pajamas with a computer in his lap. he doesn't visit the countryside, he doesn't go jet-setting to exotic locales. but moneypenny's insistence ( and she is moneypenny now, after so many months of steady rapport-building ) had been firm, and her methods effective.

everyone at mi6 lives while they have the chance, because in a job like theirs, one has to seize the day where it presents itself. ( they don't tell you about the death rates when you sign up, but everyone knows ).

q sits in the passenger side seat. he doesn't drive. he takes the tube every morning and evening without fail, looking for all the world like any other university student in his cardigans and plaid pants. there's a tablet in lap, blinking lights and numbers that keeps him connected with all of his various departmental duties - but for now, he's looking out the window instead. )

You never mentioned where it was we were going, exactly.

( but he knows, naturally. he's got a gps system accurate to ten metres hooked up to a free-standing network. but perhaps, for the sake of small-talk, he can pretend that he doesn't. )

( at times, eve understands the appeal of pajamas and staying home — there are some days when she'd like nothing better than just that, some good music and some tea and she's all set. unlike q, she would get bored of it rather quickly if not for travelling, if not for the job being challenging — not only mentally, though now that she works as m's aide, it is less physical than the field work she used to do.

like q, her work is her life and vice-versa.

which really, is all the reason she needs to know that they both require a holiday. the real challenge had been getting him to go along, but eve is nothing if not persuasive if she wants to be. )

No, I didn't. ( a small smile. ) I promise it'll have wifi, so you won't have to go without for even just the weekend.

( q is quiet in the wake of the news that sends shockwaves throughout the whole of mi6. the death of m should not have come as a surprise to anyone: it isn't as if people in their positions lead long, safe lives. he is on the periphery of death all the time. perhaps he is not out there in the field dealing it himself, but his weapons are used to kill. q is very aware of this fact. but if he's going to be honest, m's death had shaken him as well. everyone dies. even tough old intelligence masters, even legends.

he owes a lot to m, who gave him his first job. m, who chose him above plenty of other older candidates despite the scrunity that q himself experienced upon meeting the likes of bond. q takes a lot of credit for his appointment, of course he does. but he isn't naive enough to think that it was all him - in the labyrinth of political power-plays of mi6, people can be stuck for years without advancing. they just aren't as good as he is.

the news goes around the office and he watches from his spot behind his computer. there are agents that he has never seen crack an expression before looking visibly distraught. m used to be a polarizing figure, but she had been in office so long that most had more or less developed a sort of loyalty to her that was astonishing to watch. q's gaze is drawn towards moneypenny in particular. he watches her dip her head, one hand covering her face, hair wreathing her expression in shadow.

he watches, and wonders if he should say something. but really, what would he say? something about the inevitability of death? it won't help. )

[I understand a thing or two about being a woman in a man's world.

That hadn't been the first thing M had ever said to Eve, but it was what stuck. She remembers it like yesterday, the memory coming into focus as the news sinks in. Standing in uniform, being scrutinized, being told to report to her for a debriefing. Being told she had what it took to work for mi6, that power should always be in the hands of women, that men were just too emotional for it.

As right or wrong as M might have been, Eve can feel the emotions pressing against her throat and eyes, like a blade to the skin. It wasn't enough to get her to cry ( soldier's don't cry, and neither does secret service ), but she had to turn her face away, keep the tense twitch of her lip and the mourning in her brow hidden, if only for a moment. She has to be strong, for M16 and for Mallory--he would hear the news through her after all.

Now though, she simply needs a moment.]

( the odds are 11 million to 1 when it comes to dying because of a commercial aircraft crash. q knows this. q understands this so very well - he runs the numbers through his head like a cadence, a steady stream like the binary on his computer screens. everything is so much neater when encapsulated in neat schematics and blueprints. he knows how planes work ( he's designed a few of them in the past for mi6 ) but that comes with the flipside of knowing exactly what might break in excruciating, minute detail.

it isn't a rational thing. he doesn't claim it to be a rational fear. he doesn't talk about it much, actually. what q does instead is cope in the very best ways that he can. he slides the window shade down the moment he gets seated. he keeps his seat-belt on and pressing tight against his chest. he grips the armrests tight enough for his fingers to turn white and begin to ache. every slight amount of turbulence, every bump and rattle of the plane is met with an internal shudder.

this is the closest bond is going to come to seeing him without his proud, soft-spoken composure. and he can just tell that there's a smirk on the agent's face, that smug bastard. he's far too senior to be doing this. the plane rattles again, precariously - the pilot's voice is heard dimly on the intercom, to tell them that it's fine, just a little bit of routine turbulence. his message is met with deaf ears, as half of the people on this plane were asleep.

q doesn't know how anyone could sleep under these conditions. the plane rumbles again-- )

Shit.

( q's grip on the armrests tighten - sorry, bond. he's taken yours as well. the muscles in his neck are as taut as any bowstring, so tense that it's painful. )

[ james is used to private charters, small luxury planes with every convenience of a hotel right there and personally catered to him and whatever other members of mi6 he happens to be travelling with. these expenses are rarely spared when operations are important enough to have them on a mission that doesn't require immersion; this is routine exchange, practically security detail for bond as he accompanies Q to a rendezvous of sorts. so bond has taken to blaming the quartermaster for their being in first class on their way to istanbul. eve mentioned something about it possibly subduing his phobia, 'small charters crash much more often than commercial planes,' she said, as it that would make the whole thing any less ridiculous.

of course, seeing Q squirm has more than made up for the inconvenience. ]

Don't over do it, there will be no armrest left for the landing.

[ he speaks softly, all the other overhead lights around them off, as not to disturb the others. Q is entirely right in assuming there's a smirk on his face and he doesn't bother hiding his amusement in his comment.

the flight attendant steps over a few moments later with a tray and hands off two drinks to him. he smiles at her, dripping with charm and a lingering gaze (shared, of course) before she walks away to help another guest. bond places one of the glasses, a martini naturally, in front of Q before taking a sip of his own. Q had been mid-freakout when she came around the first time taking orders so bond took the liberty. ]

You need this much more than I do.

( as much as he appreciates the extra leg room, q would be at the very back of the plane if he'd had a choice about it. he's done the math. he knows that the probability of survival is on average twenty percent higher for passengers sitting near the rear. if flying was the absolute last resort, then he would have chosen their seats strategically. but m's orders are orders, and q has no doubt that bond played a role in getting them in the seats that they had now.

so here they are, both with hidden resentments about this whole affair that don't quite bubble to the surface. q, for his part, is finding it rather hard to equip himself with witty retorts to bond's patronizing remarks. it's a regular thing for a man who conflates youth with incompetence, and q is a young man with too much to prove - and even in these subtle ways, he tries to show bond up. tries to assert that he's someone to be taken seriously, because nobody does. )

Let's hope the rest of this contraption is sturdier than its armrests.

( he ends up muttering it within a stream of steady swear words under his breath, words that should sound odd coming from his posh british accent. q has ended up looking at his knees for the most part, anything to keep from reminding him that he is currently at 30,000 feet above the ground.

perhaps the martini that bond places in front of him is a necessary distraction as well, even if he isn't much of a drinker. q is proud of how steady his hands are when he reaches for the glass - there's only a mild tremor that runs through them as he raises the glass to his lips. such a bitter drink, dry and cool. such a classic, pretentious drink, and maybe it is indeed true what they say about being able to judge a man by the drink he orders.

frankly, he wouldn't know. )

Shaken, not stirred. I've read your file.

Edited 2012-11-22 04:20 (UTC)

[ bond doesn't bloody care where the optimum location for plane crash is or how much Q grips at the chair and tosses in his seat; if he's flying to turkey on a red eye flight playing security guard to an aviophobic he is going to be comfortable. M didn't need to know about the upgrade being processed and he's sure moneypenny will keep that detail hush-hush when it pops up on the expense report.

but the resentment is much easier to imbibe with a dry martini so Q should could his blessings there at least. ]

So much for passing that eval.

[ it's an off-handed remark stated more for his own sake than Q's but ripe with that same bemusement from earlier. something tells him an espionage career, even as a genius computer scientist, would require an excess of ravel by air. he respects Q enough not to water him reach for his drink or comment on the shake to his hand despite seeing it perfectly out of his periph. if he drinks then maybe the tenseness will pass, sleep will follow and they wont both be zombies tomorrow morning when they touch down in turkey. ]

It's a little more complicated. [ substitutions, mixing vodka and gin, adding a twist; why he had taken to liking the drink was a distant memory but it stuck. ] What don't they put in the files these days.

You forget: I can be virtually everywhere and anywhere at once without stepping foot on a plane. But by all means, add sitting in a chair to your list of skills as a field agent.

( q will defend his reluctance to fly to whatever extent it takes to convince people that it isn't a detriment to his job. after all, that's the beauty of technology, isn't it? he can do everything he needs to do in his pajamas as long as he has access to a half-decent laptop. he comes into the office to oversee his department, and sometimes for the access he has to technology that isn't at home. either way, nothing he does should ever entail him needing to travel beyond a simple tube ride here and there.

in fact, he's not even sure why he's here at all, and not some lower-ranked member of q division. what's the point of being the bloody quartermaster if he can't assign these things to his subordinates? it's that thought, and the newest bit of turbulence that causes to drain the rest of the martini glass without really dwelling on the taste. it's this high level of mental stress that is causing him to be a bit pricklier with his retorts than he usually is. he's usually able to be a bit more subtle about it. unless there's boasting involved. )

They're very thorough about it all. Meticulous. You'd be surprised.

( and bond's file is the thickest of all of them, barring those that he doesn't have the clearance to read, and they are few and far between. )

alt if that's too cruel:

( some people are not cut out for field work. q is one of them. theoretically, it seems as if he should be - nobody knows the inner workings of his own weapons better than he does. he knows about angles and force, a knowledge that seems like it should lend itself to aim and accuracy. but there's a difference between knowledge and ability, and q's mind is far too fast for his body, in the end. he isn't the type to react on instinct, to know when to duck and when to shoot. he's very happy at the mi6 offices, underground or not, thank you.

but a mission of national security arises, and long-range communication systems will no longer cut it. they are too easily hacked or otherwise circumvented. it was decided then, that q would accompany bond to set up near the location and guide him from there.

what this had to do with jumping out of a fucking plane, q couldn't fathom. but he couldn't. he absolutely could not - the bay doors were opening, the wind was rushing into his face, and he's frozen. he cannot do this, it isn't physically possible, he's going to die. they're both going to die. he's strapped to james, and the regulation parachute is going to fail. the statistics are there. 0.1% is still a chance, no matter how slim it is. )

We are not doing this --

( he finds himself having to yell over the rushing winds, an unusual instance for q in which he actually has to raise his voice. )

Bond, I am not doing this!

[ Well, dear Quartermaster, you're not dropping into what's exactly considered friendly territory or airspace. And apparently, on top of having an unsuitable place to land, you're on your last warning from the regulators of this airspace and stand to be shot at very soon. It's now or never.

Bond had heard that Q was afraid of flying. That wasn't uncommon. But the man had willingly signed on, knowing what he was in for. It made 007 briefly wonder just how much Mallory had to offer him to do it.

That he gets cold feet at the moment of truth isn't surprising to James either. It's actually understandable. It's one thing to have the balls to put your faith in a hulking, metal object hurling itself a mile above the ground, and quite another to sack up and jump out of it.

Like most things in his job, Bond finds that the best solution for this sort of thing is to not allow himself to think about it at all.

He doesn't think about how this man strapped to him might be edging toward a stroke, doesn't let himself think about what he'd do if that chute doesn't open. He doesn't think about how he's jumping from a height that's impossible to survive on his own, or that he's dragging someone down with him.

Instead, he just turns them so they're facing the inside of the plane again, like he's going to let them walk back in and set Q free after all.

Except he doesn't. He walks backward and wraps an arm around the other man, checking the bonds tying them together while simultaneously dragging him back to the edge. Soon enough, the wind is just going to snatch them both and they'll have no more choice in the matter. ]

Just shut your eyes and think of England.

[ At least he's got the benefit of being able to speak directly into Q's ear. ]

( the thing about q's sarcastic tendencies is that it requires certain preconditions safety, for one. a lack of immediate physical injury or death. james bond might be the type to quip in the face of danger, but q's using his efforts to concentrate on actually breathing properly and not hyperventilating in the face of 18,000 feet separating them from the ground. the rest of his concentration is going towards swearing as prolifically as he possibly can within the span of seconds, his nails digging deep into the skin of his clenched hands. this is mad. this is absolutely, without a doubt the most insane thing he's ever encountered in his life, and q has seen the range of them at mi6.

nothing mallory could ever offer him would be worth this experience. and if q hadn't spent so long cultivating a rank and persona at the agency, it would occur to him to quit on the spot. right now, before the wind takes them off the edge --

too late.

well. at least he doesn't scream.

one minute he's staring down at the dirty floor of the plane, and the next there was suddenly nothing beneath his feet. q kicked even despite himself, something of a reflexive reaction of someone searching for solid ground to stand on. his panicked mind - already so much faster than that of the average person - runs at a thousand miles an hour, taking in everything even though he would rather not.

shut your eyes and think of england.

if he were in a position to reply to that stunningly condescending statement, he would have. as it was, q's only thoughts were concentrated on the parachute, which he was not in control of - and objectively, he can probably appreciate that as a choice for the better. even if he's inwardly screaming at bond to pull the goddamn cord already.

the free-fall seems to go slower than it has the right to. )

[ This is the man who told the one torturing his bollocks that he had an itch down there anyway. These quips are his coping mechanism. He'd rather give up the breath for something condescending than take one in for fear. Not that he, honestly, faults Q for doing so.

The wind takes them and, just like that, it's out of James Bond's hands and ability to control. It's happening now and that's all there is to it, no going back. He relaxes and falls. There's nothing but sky above, endless blue that burns into sapphire. It's day, but here, Bond can make out the stars.

Air whistles by his ears, obstructive but not overpowering. For a moment, it feels like falling, but then it's very much like riding a cushion. For about ten seconds, he takes in the view above, then rolls them into a few lazy barrel rolls before, finally, rolling to face the ground below. One hand reaches to check the ripcords, both the main and back-up, but he doesn't pull either. They've only been in free-fall for about twenty seconds, and this isn't Bond's first dive, to say the least. They've got almost another twenty or so before he'll pull the chute, and that'd be merciful to Q. Bond hasn't decided if he's going to yet. Is there anything petty currently standing between them? ]

( there's always something petty standing between them, at any given point in time. bond is a unique case in the sense that q is able to talk to him in a way that he cannot with the others at mi6. he retains a blanket sense of professionalism, but can't help but slip in a few sarcastic remarks here and there in their verbal sparring matches. this is especially a habit whenever q has access to bond's earpiece in a mission setting, where his ongoing commentary never does seem to stop.

but it would take an exceedingly petty man to hold that against him in a time like this.

which means that q is probably out of luck.

there's something about this that's cliche, almost. facing your fears. god only knows that his reluctance to fly has been common knowledge in mi6 - you can't lie to a bunch of liars, no matter how discreet q had tried to keep it. m is trying to get him to get over this particular hurdle, but it's not going to work like that. he can't simply turn it on and off, can't ignore the ground hurtling rapidly up to them with each passing second, like something out of a nightmare. he's trying to keep his calm, trying to take deep breaths, but it simply isn't working.

and finally, when he can take no more of this, he leans in to speak into bond's ear. )

Pull. the damn. cord.

( q isn't yelling above the wind any more. he's trying not to be shrill. he's trying to be firm about it because he really fucking needs bond to pull those ripcords right this second. )

[ He really does like trying to tell Bond how to do his job and critiquing his techniques, despite not being in the field himself, doesn't he? Possibly just as much as Bond himself enjoys finding good excuses to get his equipment broken or otherwise scuffed. Of course, overall, there is to be a professionalism because they both know the work is serious, but Q is a bit like the new dog in the pack that Bond tends to weave in and out of; naturally, he's got to sniff and test him before he decides whether or not it's worth hiking his leg. The same is true for Mallory and Moneypenny, but then, testing Mallory must be a more subtle art and Moneypenny happens to be an attractive woman (despite the fact she shot him). Out of the three new associates Bond has, it's Q he can be the most blatant about the (more subconscious than not) fact that he has a damned hard time accepting that he both craves and fears ties of permanence. There's also the fact that Bond is more or less solely responsible for Q's protection on this mission, and getting him used to the feel of terror right away is probably the best and kindest thing to do.

Of course, honesty at any level comes with its price. Which is to say, Bond is inclined to be as much of an arse as possible without actually hurting anyone. ]

Tried already!

[ The couple of seconds of letting that sink in is enough for James to enjoy the feel of spreading his arms and pretending as if he were being carried along by this pocket of air rather than falling, coasting over the jungle below. He can see the white blossom of a chute below them - their cargo that had been kicked out of the plane before they went.

He does, indeed, pull the damn cord. The parachute opens on the first one, and then there's the feel of the harness catching at them both. The ground stops coming up so quickly and they level into sitting positions both. It's like the swing set Q never wanted, his waist more or less cradled between Bond's thighs. ]

My mistake - I just needed to put my back into it. Still alive? I'd really hate to be stuck with dead weight.

( people look at q and they make certain assumptions based on his youth in a division full of old men, based on the way he speaks and the way he dresses. he's the new dog in an elite, ruthless pack. there isn't anyone currently working at mi6 who hasn't sized him up in some way or another. the difference is that even despite their disagreements, q actually respects bond in a way. in his own, nebulous way. he wants to prove himself to him. he wants to impress him. and that's exactly how silva got into their system. q's been paying for that incident ever since, trying to rebuild his credibility. he feels the weight of that expectation acutely.

but he understands why they bicker so often. in fact, he almost enjoys it.

what he doesn't enjoy is the three or four seconds of absolute panic that runs through him when bond shouts those two words that q had been secretly dreading all along. he tries to crane his neck to see the emergency chute, but he can't reach either of them, and the ground is rushing up to them so quickly, and -- )

You absolute bloody bastard.

( congratulations, bond, for being the first person to crack that facade of professionalism in his entire tenure at mi6. working relationships be damned, he's still trying to keep his heart from feeling like it's going to burst out of his chest. )

[ In turn, Bond laughs like the bloody bastard he is, a snort that dissolves into a throaty chuckle. ]

Oh, don't be so dramatic. You're alright. Besides, shouldn't you have been prepared for this sort of view after looking at all those satellite photos? Or is it really not the same at all?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

A Picture is Worth... Meme.

q ( james bond: skyfall )

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do i win

oh my GOD. yes, yes you do.

and after this we go camping

this is q's worst holiday ever

but best facebook status/tweet

"nearly died today. bond is a lunatic and a sadist."

d "Thunderballs" Bond likes this.

/unfriended

he'll be back. bond ain't bovvered