This is a masterpost of all my standalone fics from the last three years! Am taking the liberty of reposting, as my posts have not been showing up for many people in fandom tags (which I’ve now fixed). Ratings and warnings vary.
Thank you so much, everybody who has been supporting me for these three years.
SO! In descending order of popularity…
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Summary: Bond has lost his memory. Q has lost his love.
“What have I forgotten?” Bond asked; Q watched him, trying to find the James he knew.
“Nothing that you won’t work out on your own, if it’s really important,” Q said carefully, before returning every fraction of his attention to the computer in front of him.
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His name was Oliver, he was a programmer in Q branch, he had no access to classified files…
Sherlock Holmes is contacted by his elder brother. The Quartermaster of MI6 has been abducted, and Mycroft is insistent that Sherlock finds him. Sherlock, John, and a rather overzealous 00 agent, attempt to find him before Q shatters.
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Q is a hooker. James Bond is in love.
The boy is sharp in all of the right places. His spine is bent in an entrancing curve, leant against the lamp-post, shadows pooling in the indented hollows of his face. He is too-pale, the flush high on his cheekbones from the cold, lips bitten so they retain a deep fuchsia stain.
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Q is Bond’s Omega, and happily so; Omegas live in a dangerous world, however. Ownership can be won and lost far too easily.
Every Omega’s greatest fear: to be claimed, and forgotten. To belong entirely to somebody else, but cease to matter.
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Every year, MI6 goes through the single most stressful, highly-anticipated, important event in their calendar.
The inter-departmental paintball fight.
There was only one rule: no lasting physical harm. Beyond that, everybody went quite categorically insane over the entire affair.
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Q, the Quartermaster of MI6, has dissociative identity disorder.
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Christmas is a catalyst for relationships, including the rather tempestuous one between 007 and Q.
I appreciate that it is a few short weeks away from Christmas. However, the next person who attempts to place mistletoe in my general vicinity will find their equipment mutilated by viruses which will mysteriously survive any and all attempts to be removed, and will probably outlive your grandchildren.
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John and Sherlock go on a double date with Q and Bond. Which really, was one of the worst ideas anybody had ever come up with in recorded history.
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The recording light of the camera remains steady, constant, and Q conducts conversations with empty air.
His voice is a thin rasp. “I don’t know if you can hear this, but I think you probably can,” he muses. His throat hurts. “If it’s just going back to Chris then fine, but if you’re there, then hi.”
Q manages a small, fragile smile that doesn’t come near his eyes.
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Q has lung cancer.
Never had he needed to watch anybody die like this.
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Bond could count the number of times Q called him by his first name on the fingers of one hand.
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The James Bond initiative had been created as a way of romanticising MI6. Turning failed missions into myths. Keeping ‘James Bond’ a figurehead – an idea, not a person. The legacy of MI6 without the reality.
The Skyfall incident was made into a film. And now, Q has discovered something… rather frightening.
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Q fakes his own suicide, and a devastated Bond needs to understand why.
Loving Q had been water in a storm; too much. Bond had drowned in it, more willingly than he wanted to admit, dying in Q, with Q, knowing Q was drowning with him, neither wanting to go.
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It would have been kinder, Q thinks, a long time later, if we had both died young.
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And that’s the lot, guys and dolls! Hope you enjoy. Jen.
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