James Bond has been chasing death for centuries.
When it comes – it comes to him – it comes in a form he would never expect it to: a gangly, pale, bespectacled boy who can’t possibly be two decades old, let alone James’ seven centuries. The boy, who pretentiously calls himself Q despite being an intern of all things, babbles about the inevitability of time, old ships being hauled off to scrap, and James is torn between scoffing at his ignorance and thinking the words a promise.
I don't know actually. It's just that. This whole thing was beautiful in a really painful way. And I loved the writing style. And I need something for the new 007 movie. Have to honour that all the jazz.
But still I don't know what I am suppose to say about any of this. Just that I fell in love but at the same time I really hated the fic, the sadness and their relationship and how it all just had to end to death but at the same time there was a promise about the future. Well. A promise. Whatever.
Just read it. And fell in love. And comment. Leave kudos and be amazing. All that.
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