#qsilva
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@gottaread2 thank you for the tag! This is going to be fun because I write long ass sentences 😬
Rules: share the first line of your most recent fanfics and then tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don't be shy and share anyway!
1. Gotham Blues (Nygmobblepot) - To say that Edward didn't remember the last time he had left Gotham would have been a lie; he didn't think there was anything in the whole universe that could make him forget watching the city disappear from sight, further and further away, swallowed by thick clouds as his plane climbed up in the sky, taking him all the way across the Atlantic where he alone would be privy to his ghosts and memories.
2. Cannibalized Hearts (Justice Lords Superbat) - In hindsight, Bruce should have known that the game he had been playing was one that he couldn't win; no matter how smart, how stealthy, how organized he was, in no universe he could have managed to aide the resistance when he was surrounded by super-powered beings that already kept him under tight surveillance, suspicious of his every move, well-aware that his heart just wasn't in the new Regime.
3. Valentine's Date Night (Superbat) - Bruce never had anything against Valentine's Day.
4. Curiosity (00Silva) - “So, who’s the new kid?”
5. Sweeter (Q&Silva) - “I’m telling you only one more time-”
6. Affinity (00Silva) - "Bond"
7. Dancing in Circles (00q) - Q didn't even raise his eyes from the monitor he was looking at when he heard the heavy noise of a package landing on his desk "Good morning to you too"
8. Of Scales and Feathers (Nygmobblepot) - Edward blinked slowly at the tank in front of him, one hand firmly wrapped around the handle of his gun and the other deliberately moving in front of the glass, trying to track its inhabitant's movements: it seemed lethargic enough - or maybe just disinterested in Edward, as long as he didn't reach inside of its enclosure.
9. Karaoke Nights (Nygmobblepot) - When Oswald had opened the Lounge, he had never imagined he would have to suffer through karaoke nights; they were the kind of tacky and cheap entertainment that didn't belong in a place as exclusive as his club, when rich Gothamites eagerly paid for watered-down and overpriced drinks just for the pleasure of rubbing shoulders with Gotham's Rogues.
10. Deluge (Nygmobblepot) - The rain wasn't exactly a stranger to Gotham but Oswald could barely remember the last time it had poured for so long - or better, he did remember but he had no desire to reminisce so, he just closed down the Iceberg Lounge when it became evident that not even Gothamites were willing to go out in such bad weather just for a drink, sent his employees home and went back to the manor, offering his driver a room for the night when the crack of thunder welcomed them to the Palisades: finding good and discrete drivers who could also handle themselves decently in a gun fight was a hassle and Oswald had no intentions of losing his when he had more than enough space to host him.
Tagging (no pressure!): @gwylliondream @irisbleufic @acapelladitty @spiritofcamelot @thegreenfairy13 @pamdizzle @gemenice @happygoloony @solarmorrigan @themuller13
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Captain PB’s Introduction Post
Villainous Nickname: Mercedes (A reference to The Count of Monte Cristo, the original revenge story)
Modus Operandi: Convoluted plans that won’t be unraveled until the very end.
About my lair: I live surrounded by guard cats and poisonous plants. Enter at your own risk.
My secret weapon: It’s a secret (duh). A villain never reveals their secret weapon.
What are you looking forward to about 007 fest: I can’t wait to make you all look at my QSilva content all month. Muahahaha!
Villainous catchphrase: Don’t try me.
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Hello! So I know your QSilva post is from nine years ago but…any leftover thoughts on that particular story?
Oh thank you! I remember writing that and it was very fun. I do have a Fem!Q story that's has a couple chapters posted on A03 and I very much want to continue it but No Time to Die was such a let down it really killed my inspiration! I did have ideas for scenes with fem!Q and ALL the villains...heh, I'm shameless but hey they were all so good.
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The Least Unacceptable Solution
Bond hadn’t come back from his outing with Severine. Instead, Severine had showed up at Q’s flat a few days later, a familiar gun in her hand that glowed green in her grip, suborned by Silva’s code.
Q had swiftly discovered where Bond had been taken.
“You can save him,” Silva offered, his voice breathy in Q’s ear, his hand trailing down Q’s arm.
Across the room, Severine, her hands trembling, ran a knife down Bond’s abdomen and cut away a thin strip of skin that she set in a pile on the table next to Bond’s broken legs. She kept having to wipe away the blood from previous cuts so she could see what she was doing, and to wipe away her own tears for the same reason. She had streaks of Bond’s blood on her face.
It was a small room. The coppery scent of Bond’s blood was inescapable.
Q clenched his hands into fists. He had to restrain himself---they hadn’t done that for him.
Silva had seemed amused when Q had pointed out that he could be a potential threat. “Oh, not to me, darling boy,” he had said, and he had laughed.
“I’m not going to tell you anything,” Q said for the hundredth time, hoping that repetition would make it the truth.
Silva laughed. “I don��t need information,” he said, chuckling. “I have that, silly boy.” He waited.
Severine started another cut.
Bond breathed hard through clenched teeth, his face twisted, a wretched sound rasping in the back of his throat.
“What do you want?” Q asked.
“I want you to join me,” Silva said, grinning fiercely. “And in return, I’ll let you put him out of his misery, merciful angel, the way nobody did to me. Come on, don’t be shy. Don’t you want to protect your agent, quartermaster? Help me build a world where they answer to someone who will kill them rather than leave them in agony.”
Q looked at the half-healed bullet wound on Bond’s chest---maybe the least damaged part of him at the moment, but still scarred all to hell. Six had already disposed of Bond once. What was one more time? What was so wrong with burning it all to the ground and starting again?
(Trapping people under fragmented concrete, no light in the dark but mobile screens, Q Branchers scurrying like rats through their broken tunnels---but hadn’t that old hack died too, and hadn’t Q, infinitely better at navigating the twenty-first century, replaced him?
How long had Silva been planning to acquire him?)
Silva withdrew the Walther from a holster under his pale coat and offered it to him. “One bullet left,” he said, abruptly serious. “Use it wisely.”
Q gripped the gun. The light flashed green. His code, useless against Silva. His weapon, used against him. Against Bond.
For Bond? For Silva?
Q’s hands, which never betrayed him, stayed steady as he took aim and fired.
#007 fest#castillon writes#team00#qsilva#torture cw#ambiguous ending#silva is a creep and he gets a creep-filled ficlet every year apparently
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It’s Supportive Sunday!
Supportive Sunday is a day when we encourage you to support someone in the fandom!
There are lots of ways to do that:
Kudos something you like
A short comment (“Loved this!” or “Extra kudos!”)
A more detailed comment (“X made me laugh out loud!”)
Make a rec post
Send a creator a short anon ask about their work! (“What inspired X?”)
Send a reader who’s commented a short anon ask showing your appreciation! (“Your comments make my day!”)
Reblog this post with a rec
As part of Supportive Sundays, we’re also highlighting some fancreations with few comments that may be overlooked.
Cold Heat, by tayryn. Summary: Sequel to Wolfsbride's 'Snowed In'. They're still in the safe house... and still generating heat. [James Bond/Dench!M]
Tea Situation (fanart), by ladydoor. [00Q]
I’m Sorry (Not Really), by runes01. Summary: “I’m sorry, James, though not really,” he murmurs as he gets up from his crouch. “It would have been nice to have gotten to know you better, but you simply had to ruin it by stabbing Silva in the back.” [Q/Silva]
“I might just kiss you.”, by KittsFics. Summary: Q gestures at his desk which is covered in some small, twisted machinery fragments, and slowly drags himself to his feet, setting his laptop carefully aside. “I assume you’re here to add to that. Or has there been a miracle?” [00Q]
AND IF YOU WANT NEW READING MATERIAL, YOU CAN ALSO CHECK OUT THE LAST WEEK OF LDWS DRABBLES AND VOTE!
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Gallery [Q/Silva]
((Day 11! After reading through @sunaddicted‘s Raoul Silva headcanons, the one about Silva and art hit me over the head with this short idea. No particular warnings, definitely AU, a slight rehash of the gallery scene, but with no Bond))
Read it on Ao3
Considering the painting before him, lost in thought, Q jumped when a pair of arms wound around his waist.
“Do you like it?” Silva murmured in his ear.
The deep, rolling voice settled Q in its familiarity, and he relaxed back against Silva’s chest, nodding. “I do. I tend to favor romanticism.”
Silva chuckled, the sound rumbling against Q’s back, sending trills up his spine. “I’ve noticed. Turner, though – he is so… melancholy.”
Q hummed in agreement, still contemplating the strokes of The Fighting Temeraire. “I like, it though. A grand old warship, being ignominiously hauled away for scrap. Making way for the new age.” He reached up to place his hands over Silva’s where they rested on his waist.
“Do you want it?”
A short laugh tumbled from Q’s lips. “The paintings here aren’t exactly for sale, Raoul.”
“Oh, darling. Sweet Q.” Silva pressed a discreet kiss to Q’s temple, the affectionate nickname rolling off his tongue – Silva’s very own clever little quartermaster, he always said; his Q, “You have yet to learn that nothing is off limits for us. If you want this painting, you shall have this painting.”
Q considered it a moment; if Silva said he could do it, then he would – Q had facilitated enough of his impossible ventures that he knew this to be true. “No,” He decided at last, “Something a little more cheerful, maybe. Brighten up the island a bit.”
“Well, I do know how much you miss it here in your London. You say no, but I have noticed.” Silva insisted, drawing back so Q could turn to face him, “We’ll find you a souvenir before we go home.”
“Something tasteful? T-shirt with a Union Jack on it, perhaps?” Q teased, just to see Silva’s lips curl in distaste, “I don’t need a souvenir. I left for a reason, but I also came back with you for a reason. We have a job to do.”
With a grin that straddled the line between charming and manic, Silva leaned in to claim a kiss from Q, who gave it willingly. For a moment, the gallery, the people, the world outside all ceased to exist, and it was just the two of them, two of the brightest minds in the world, connected.
“Whatever would I do without you?” Silva asked as he pulled back.
Q gave him a dry look. “You’d manage perfectly well without me.”
“Perhaps.” Silva nodded, a pragmatic acknowledgement, “But I do not have to, and for that I am glad. Come along, then, my darling, clever boy. Our work awaits.”
Q hummed, allowing Silva to pull him close as they left the gallery. “People to see, places to bomb…” He murmured.
“A world to run.” Silva finished gleefully, “So much to do.”
#007 Fest#QSilva#Q#Raoul Silva#teambondvillains#quartermaster#bond#I've never written silva before#why this#why did I write this#why do I like it so much#solar wrote
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Brilliant
Stranger: Everything was going rather well for Q. He had a beautiful job with access to all files he needed, good trust with everyone in MI6, and their own best agent under his thumb. And it had all been /so easy,/ Q was almost disappointed. But ultimately he did it, for the good of Silva's network. Everything was going to plan. He just had to wait a little longer, let everything settle since the Skyfall incident. Once Silva resurrected himself, though, everything would be set into motion. He tugged on the sleeves of his coat as he climbed the stairs of his flat and unlocked the door, stepping inside and shedding his bag, coat, and shoes. "James, love, I'm home," he called out into the flat, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose to keep them from falling down.
You: There was no answer from within the dark flat. James heard the sweet voice he'd grown to love calling out for him, but he couldn't bring himself to answer. There was a lump in his throat suppressing all that he wanted to say. Billowing curtains and the smell of cigarette smoke were the only clue leading to Bond's location on the balcony. There was a whiskey glass on the metal table beside his chair, though it only contained melting ice. His eyes closed to listen, something quite instinctual by now. He wanted to hear the footsteps, imagine Q finding his way to the balcony. His heart ached as he did, his throat growing dry.
Stranger: Q looked around and followed the familiar smell, hearing the pattering of the gentle but growing rain outside. "James? What are you doing outside, it's going to really start raining soon." He told the man in a gentle voice, stepping outside and looking down at the man in the chair. "Are you alright?" Something did seem off about him. Had been for a few days now. The way he didn't quite look Q in the eyes anymore, but lurked around Q-Branch like he was taking his last glimpse of it all. Despite himself, Q worried.
You: James certainly knew what it was to feel betrayal. When he saw the messages on Q's mobile it was like an old friend come back to him. Betrayal. It haunted him, rotted the love he felt, and yet he continued to search for love. He brought the last breath of his cigarette to his lips, taking it deep into his lungs before he tossed the butt out into the rain. Bond let the smoke buy his time, watching it linger in the damp, dark air. He hadn't told anyone. To think that Q would fall away from him the same as all the rest was too much for his mind to bear. For the first time he had tried to understand, but he was missing the information he needed to truly put himself in Q's place.
Stranger: "James, you're scaring me." Though most of this relationship had been Q acting, this part was genuine concern. If he lost James to the merciless clutches of madness, he would have not only lost a good game-piece but he also would lose his closest confidant here, the man he could tell not everything to but quite a bit. He didn't want to give that up. He knelt down next to the older man's chair, reaching out to take his hand. "James?"
You: The hand moved from Q's path before their skin touched. James turned to face Q, his quick reflexes exposed as his fingertips slid up the back of the other's thin neck. When he clutched at the messy curls it was with a bit too much strength, and one could smell the strong liquor on his breath.
Stranger: He stiffened at the sudden hand on him, though he wouldn't have had it been kinder. "James, I want you to be more careful with me. You're hurting me." He said evenly, keeping his eyes. Jesus, was he drunk? Q would not die like this, that was for certain.
You: Bond loosened his grip, but he only pulled closer. He was still quiet, with blue eyes trained on Q's to spot the slightest change. When he finally moved it was to press their lips together, his palm going flat against the back of Q's head. There was a roughness to the kiss, but through it was a true passion. A desperation, really.
Stranger: Q was surprised at the sudden move of affection, but closed his eyes and allowed himself to fall into the kiss, for a moment entirely vulnerable. Something about James had always been different from his past lovers, but even this was too different to describe. Something had changed in James, and Q wasn't quite sure yet what it was.
You: Bond drew a breath as if he were about to speak, but just as he did the rain began to beat against the metal above them. There was a mist coming in from raindrops hitting the balcony railing. James let go, moving to stand. He could feel the lump throbbing, like his heart trying to crawl out of his throat. It distracted him enough that he felt his shoe slip as he walked around Q to go back inside. He reached out, catching his balance on the doorway.
Stranger: Q jumped up at the man nearly falling, grabbing onto his shoulders to steady him. "James, say something, please," he murmured worriedly, steering the man back inside and shutting the balcony door behind him. Now the rain was only a dull patter against it, and they were only slightly wet.
You: Pushing through the doorway, James escaped the hands on his shoulders. Feeling so unstable only rattled him more. All the past was in his mind, screaming at him to give up on the man who stood behind him. It was protocol to report a traitor. To stop whatever nonsense Tiago was planning before he could use Q's mind to bring it into reality. He turned to look at Q, searched his face for anything to make himself angry enough to do it. But all he found was concern, confusion. "I love you." Were the words he chose at Q's request.
Stranger: The tension was building, Q was worrying, and for /those words/ to leave his lips, to find their way to Q's ears and ring through them - he smiled softly. "I love you, too, darling." He promised, though part of him wished it didn't feel so empty. "Now, why don't you tell me what's wrong?"
You: Bond looked away. He tugged his necktie the rest of the way off, throwing it onto the sofa to join his jacket. "I came home early because I failed. The agent I was sent to find. . . She's dead." He lied with a silver tongue. It felt easier, more natural to lie, sending a wave of temporary relief through his system. James traveled through the dark flat to the kitchen, hunting another glass in the cabinets.
Stranger: "Oh, darling," the words were spoken smoothly as a sound of sympathy, and he followed after James slowly as he tried to wrap around him in a hug. "I'm sorry. You can't let yourself get so beaten up about it. There wasn't anything you could do, was there?"
You: Sighing, the agent's hands pushed against the countertop to bear the weight of Q against his back. His eyes closed again, this time to feel instead of listen. Warm skin beneath damp clothes and the steady pulse through Q's chest. "There's always something that could have been done." He murmured when he finally slipped away from the embrace. There was a sound of glass dragging along the counter, followed by the door to the freezer and cubes of ice.
Stranger: Q sighed softly after him, hands sitting empty in the air before dropping back down again. "Well, I wouldn't dwell on it too much, alright? Don't let it get to you."
You: Those words left a bitter taste in his mouth. He closed the freezer door to look at Q, almost scowl. "I'll try not to." James didn't hide the sarcasm in his tone, and left the words in the air between them as he disappeared into the study. He drained what was left of the crystal bottle and cracked the seal on a new whiskey to fill it again.
Stranger: He watched him go sadly, eyes lingering on him until he stepped out of sight. Q could only do so much, he supposed. "Let me know if there's anything I can do, love." His voice was sad, lost, careful.
You: James locked himself away, but he couldn't stop himself from listening. He was aware of every footstep, every tap on the keyboard. A need for closeness destroyed all of James' hopes of deep thought. Q was already settled in bed when the agent finally allowed himself out into their room. His fingers worked slowly to unbutton his shirt while he slid his shoes off in the closet. "Still working?" He asked as casually as he could manage, glancing up at Q while he worked on getting his belt loose.
Stranger: Q had glanced up when he heard James walk in, like a deer stumbling in nervously. "Yeah, just finishing." He said after he realized the question was prompted to him, giving him a small smile. He closed his laptop after locking it and slid it away, lifting the covers to invite James in.
You: Once he was down to his boxer-briefs, James eased himself down slowly onto the bed. His body ached for touch, feeling lost in the big bed without Q against him. He lay still, anyway, eyes on the ceiling.
Stranger: Q waited until his computer was put away and James was fully settled before he chanced moving forward, coming close as he always did in order to soak up James' warmth. He'd always had cold blood, and James had always been the cure. "I love you. You know, right?"
You: James offered Q a smile through stiff lips as a response. It took him a moment, but he slowly moved to wrap an arm around the other. Another wave of relief; but, like a pill or a drink, it felt empty. It might as well have been a prostitute beside him. He probably would have preferred one.
Stranger: "Something's wrong." Q muttered softly. "Not just the mission. I know it." He shifted to rest his head against James' chest, to hear his heart beating and to close his eyes. "You don't have to tell me about it. But if you do, I'm here."
You: The words rang in his ears and Bond just tried to be still. He managed to stifle a change in his pulse, taking slow breaths to try and clear his mind. It was a long while of rain stained silence before the words finally bubbled up in his throat. "What makes you do it?" He whispered. "What drives you to be so. . . brilliant?"
Stranger: Q listened to his tone, his voice inflection, his words. Everything was so . . . off. What was it? "Flatterer," he played along with a tiny smile, batting at his chest gently. "I'm not so brilliant. Just not oblivious."
You: "I'm serious-" He almost said the name Quiver before stopping himself. "You are brilliant, you know you are. What's brought you so far?"
Stranger: He smiled softly to himself, shaking his head. "I don't think I'm as brilliant as you say. Just . . . mildly more intellegent than the average person. That hardly makes me something amazing." He murmured into the darkness. "I don't know. A pathetic determination and a pretty face, I suppose."
You: Bond's muscles tensed. He swallowed thickly, almost making him cringe. "You're hardly pathetic. I-" The agent closed his eyes tight, forcing himself to speak again. "I want to know why. Why are you here?"
Stranger: "Why are any of us here?" Q gave the traditional answer easily, yawning gently. "I'm exhausted."
You: He wanted to let that be the end of it. To let them both fall asleep for a few precious hours and let go of the circumstances. But James knew that exhaustion was what he needed to have the truth from Q. His fingertips pressed in against the soft flesh of the other's shoulder, holding him as if he would slip away. "Would you leave with me?" He asked quietly. "If I retire, I mean."
Stranger: Q's eyes opened, staring blurrily at the outline of James' chest. "I don't know," He replied honestly, tracing his fingers along the man's stomach carefully. "Why? Are you planning on doing so?"
You: "I could. There's plenty money for us both to live somewhere away from all of this." He moved slightly to look down at Q's fingers against his skin. "Disconnected."
Stranger: "Disconnected?" He asked, pressing his lips together. "Now you're talking about being away from my computers," he murmured with a soft, light tone, though there was an underlying nervousness in his voice. It was minor. He could pass it off." I've always had computers, even as a child."
You: "I'm talking about us escaping together. Exploring what nature has to offer." It was the truth and the truth always sounded awful to James. "I'm so tired of cities and cars and computers. So tired of people. I only want you."
Stranger: "I'm flattered, James." His hand had long stilled against his stomach. "But you know we could never do that. Not with our jobs. You never just retire>"
Stranger: .*
You: "You could do it, darling." James felt himself building up. His free hand slid against Q's cheek, tilting his face so they could look at each other through the dark. "You could make us disappear without a trace."
Stranger: Q stared up at him and for a moment he wanted to do it, wanted to nod and make plans and run away never to be seen. But that could never happen. "Even I'm not that good, James.' He whispered. And he wasn't only talking about MI6 anymore. He was talking about all of it.
You: With those words James felt a hole sucked through his chest. The place where Q laid his head was hollow.
Bond let his hand slide away, his head falling back down against the pillow. "Goodnight." He murmured, in a voice almost too dry to hear.
Stranger: Q wanted to push harder, to get to the bottom of James' upset, but he only murmured his own goodnight and closed his eyes. They had to be okay. This had to be okay.
You: In the morning, someone sat in the living room waiting for Q. James had long ago left the flat, waking before dawn to shower and escape. It was Tiago who was so calmly seated in the wide armchair, hands folded in his lap. He, too, had his eyes closed, listening and feeling. There was a smile on his lips when he finally heard feet on the cold hardwood floors of the flat. "Good morning." He called, voice traveling like music through the open hallway.
Stranger: "Jesus." Q breathed softly. This was not okay. He hadn't had a single cup of tea yet and here his boss was, sitting in his flat and giving him that shark-like grin. "Silva, what are you doing here?" He asked blearily, pushing a hand through his pillow mussed hair as he padded over to the kitchen to put the kettle on. "You know it's dangerous to be this close. Somebody might see you. James might come back."
You: Tiago leaned against his fist, a chuckle echoing from his chest. "Do you think he will come back?" He asked with a curiosity deeper than the obvious thought.
Stranger: "Of course he will. Why do you ask?" He replied sleepily, dropping a teabag into a generous-sized mug and waiting for his water to boil. He leaned against the counter, tugging at the sleeves of his jumper easily. "You didn't answer my question."
You: "I watched him this morning." Silva sighed, ignoring the question once again. He dropped his arm, leaning around the back of the chair to look towards Q. "Lifting weights, running-" He paused with a sound of playful delight. "So much frustration."
Stranger: "I know. Something's up with him." Q nodded understandingly, pouring the water over his tea and rooting through the cabinet for his honey. "I'm /this close/ to figuring out what."
You: "Of course he thinks you're sleeping with someone else." The older man almost groaned, as if it were annoyingly obvious. He rose to his full height from the chair, smoothing his jacket as he turned to face Q. "You mustn't let him go looking for your lover." Tiago smirked, taking a few slow steps forward. "James is so easily swayed by touch, it shouldn't be difficult."
Stranger: Q glanced up, bringing the cup to his lips and taking a long sip. "I should have guessed." He murmured, eyes not leaving the man's. "He'll trust me. He has through worse things than a spare lover."
You: While Q spoke, the blonde drew closer. His eyes roved over the thin man in his pyjamas. Tiago hummed, standing right before Q to look down on him. "I wish his suspicions were true."
Stranger: "Do you?" He asked conversationally, cupping his tea in both hands now.
You: Silva let the silence between them grow, a saccharine smirk on his lips. "I understand," he murmured finally. "It's much easier to work on your knees for /James Bond/." He said the name dramatically, eyes rolling. However, a smile never faded from his features. Tiago savoured the next few moments of silence before he turned away. "I understand." He murmured again as he walked to the door. "Good luck!"
Stranger: Q smiled after him, reluctantly setting down his tea to follow him and turn him around by the shoulders. "You didn't really think I was going to pass up such a lovely offer?" He asked, glancing down for a moment. "Are you going to kiss me, or will I have to get on my toes to do it myself?"
You: "Adorable." Silva breathed, lips breaking into a full grin. His hand slid into place in the small of Q's back, pulling him in firmly. When he leaned in it was to lap at the other's lips first, leading him to the kiss he wanted.
Stranger: He shifted closer, wrapping his arms around the man's neck, and leaned up to meet his lips. His green eyes fell shut beneath his glasses, his hands running gently through his hair.
You: Something of a purr resonated within Tiago. His fingertips slid past the waistband of Q's pyjamas, stroking against the bare skin at the base of his spine.
Stranger: Q gave a soft noise of his own against the man's lips, pressing ever closer to the man.
You: After a few more lavish kisses, Tiago leaned down further to press his lips against Q's neck. Only a teasing touch, before he eased down onto one knee before the quartermaster. His hands slid under the cuff of the other's right leg, sliding the fabric up until his could place his kiss on Q's knee. Tiago rested his chin there when he looked up, hand clinging to Q's thigh. "I hope he is careful with you."
Stranger: He gave a moan, his head dropping back to reveal more of his pale neck, before Tiago moved away. He glanced down with lust-filled eyes. "He does. As best as he can, in his circumstances." He murmured, running his fingers through the man's hair. "I feel sorry for him, sometimes."
You: "And what do you feel for me?" Tiago hummed, his fingers stroking further up Q's thigh.
Stranger: "I certainly don't feel sorry for you," Q murmured lowly, biting his lip to keep further noises from escaping.
You: That was amusing enough to draw another chuckle from Tiago. He pulled the the leg of Q's pyjamas back down neatly. When he rose it was slowly, with eyes locked on the younger man's. Arms encircled Q completely, then. He pressed his forehead to the top of the other's head as he whispered. "When you are with him. . . I want you to think only of me."
Stranger: Q felt a shiver run up his spine. "Of course," he whispered lustily, looking up at him.
You: "Practice, hm?" Silva gave a quick wink, opening the door to the flat behind his back.
Stranger: Q watched him go, eyes following him until he was out of sight and the door swung shut behind him.
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talk to me of spring and fall (3/3)
or don’t talk at all, show me.
In which Q enters a new world, makes a new friend, and loses his way back.
Click here.
Note: For a friend lost.
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bond prompts to pass the time: q in his fleabag era, confesses his love to bond during their last conversation in nttd "It'll pass."
post nttd. q lied to bond about there being a cure. when he comes back for it, q tells the truth. every consequence you can think of would be better than canon.
leiter doesn't convince bond to get back in the game. bond convinces leiter to leave it. they ditch that mormon at the club and retire into the sunset together. shipping or not idc. I think bond would love felix's family either way.
any silvaq (qsilva) fic and/or ficlet ever: silva takes q hostage after his escape from mi6.
anonymous cybersex turned irl date-from-hell.
silva's the quartermaster and ben's a low-hanging q-branch employee under him.
silva's taken in by bond, alive but paralyzed, and imprisoned by mi6 the same way blofeld was in nttd. he won't talk to anyone but q, because q reminds him of m (psychosexual obsession up to your interpretation.)
silva tries to recruit q instead of bond. same island, same speech, same chair, different psychological evaluation results.
NOT SUCH A CLEVER BOY backstory, because I think that dig was very stalkery and I'm almost sure you have theories.
normal prompts to pass the time: q and eve making office small talk about their weekend plans, going to go see padington 2. q gets teased because he sounds like paddington.
bond and eve give q's nttd date the shovel talk while they drink his wine and eat his food.
kind of a lot, so sorry but I couldn't pick one. I hope you think it's flattering because that's what I was going for! I really like your writing/meta/headcanons.
it's been ages since you've sent in this ask T.T - I'm so sorry, writer's block is not budging any time soon but I hope you these short fics for some of your prompts!
***
post nttd. q lied to bond about there being a cure. when he comes back for it, q tells the truth. every consequence you can think of would be better than canon.
This isn't a new fic (I wrote it after going to NTTD premiere) but I'm leaving it here, since it fits the prompt:
silva takes q hostage after his escape from mi6.
silva's the quartermaster and ben's a low-hanging q-branch employee under him.
(I'm sorry, I'm pretty sure you wanted it to be Qsilva but this got away from me and became 00silva - I hope you enjoy it anyway!)
#my writing#my fanfiction#james bond 007#qsilva#q/silva#00silva#q#quartermaster#007#james bond#raoul silva#tiago rodriguez#thank you anon for giving me so many prompts with my favourite blond bastard#you have exceptional taste
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✪ Hit me with anything. ;)
Anything? Okay…
This is a fem!Q x Silva thing that’s starts out really sketch but well…it’s going to be a kinktastic smut when I’m done with it.
Q had seen the reports. The pictures. Out of all the names his face, his work had stuck out to her most. There was no denying it.
R. Silva. The report had explained it all. she had heard the whispers circling MI6. M's betrayal. She knew it all.
"You’re very good, you know." He said, his accent as thick as the syrupy texture of his voice. "Very skilled. Not many people understand that. There is a true mastery, an art to this work. Like brush strokes on a canvas. I’ve never seen work like yours and so young…"
He was immaculately dressed. His shining heels clicked and clacked on the floor as he approached her, echoing throughout the spartan room.
"How old are you darling?" He's behind her now, his hand running through her hair and down to her throat.
"Come come, speak up will you." His hand now cupped her neck, just under her ear flinches, tightening for only a second. The warning is clear.
"28" she curses herself only managing a whisper. It sounds frightened, it sounds weak. She sounded frightened; true, she is but she knew it was deadly to make such feelings known.
"Ah, such a little thing…"
His hand left her neck momentarily, only to pull her hair back, revealing the thin bare skin behind it.
"So talented…and yet so inexperienced"
"What am I doing here?" Q said, louder than she had meant to. It was this damn fear. At moment paralyzing her, the next driving her to stupid levels of courage.
"Ah, ah…" His fingers brushed her jaw, his large hand encircling it. She squeaked, surprised by the strength. For a supposed tech genius, Silva wasn't built thin and brittle.
"Shh, shh, shhh"
"So chatty you young ones. Always so willing your speak your mind. Prattling off, filling cyberpace with such filth."
He looked to the guards that stood on either side of the door.
"Leave us."
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Silva/Q: First Meeting
Q’s newest client stopped in the doorway of his waiting room, visibly assessing the space, starting with the half-dead spider plant in the tiny office window on the left and ending at the frankensteined laptop on Q’s desk to the right.
“Ah, hello,” Mr. Rodriguez finally said, shutting the door and walking up to the desk. His expensive, off-white suit jacket matched his bizarre off-blond hair. “They tell me you are the clever boy who will fix my face.” He gave Q a languorous, condescending smile, the kind Q had seen from a hundred different people---professors, government employees, CEOs---people who had all been forced to admit in the end that he was right, right, right, and they were wrong, wrong, wrong.
Mr. Rodriguez, he was sure, would be no different.
Q handed him the usual tablet for filling out digital forms. “I’ll need you to complete these intake papers, and after that we’ll do two or three facial scans in order to ensure the accuracy of your prototype. Although we will have an initial prototype available for you by the end of the day, the nature of your injury is such that we may need to go through two or more different models in order to find the most comfortable option for you.”
It was the same spiel as always. Although the technical challenges of prosthesis production still allowed for some minor intrigue, particularly with cases such as Mr. Rodriguez’s corrupted jaw, Q’s software was so fine-tuned by this point that it practically did the work for him.
But Mr. Rodriguez didn’t go sit in the visitor’s chair. Instead he tapped a finger on Q’s desk, next to his laptop. “I think you’ll find the forms are already in your email, my dear,” he said, setting the tablet back down onto Q’s desk. He smirked.
Q paused. His forms were confidential. So was his email. He had encrypted the forms himself, as a challenge, because apparently being a young genius who was successfully running his own prosthetics business had the side effect of making him bored, bored, bored.
He checked. Sure enough, there it was: a message from at:vilas, who was apparently registered under the same corporate domain as Q even though Q was the only employee. And the forms were all present and filled out.
A glance up at Mr. Rodriguez showed he was smiling. He was also leaning just a touch uncomfortably into Q’s space.
People didn’t always lose their limbs in motor accidents; Rodriguez was hardly the first client to threaten him. However, this was probably the most effective attempt.
Despite the curdling feeling in his belly, Q smiled a ‘fuck you’ smile back at Rodriguez and stood, closing the gap between them. This close, he could smell the floral scent of Earl Grey on Rodriguez’s breath. “I do appreciate your efficiency, Mr. Rodriguez,” he said, making sure his tone conveyed the opposite. “Please, come right this way.”
Rodriguez barked a laugh and came along into the back room, sticking close, like a dog at Q’s back.
Invasive. Dangerous. But a paying client, providing Q didn’t end up dead instead. Too late to do anything about that now. He would have to fix that if he lived through the night.
Q politely looked away as Rodriguez removed his temporary jaw piece, a cheap aluminium thing soon to be replaced by Q’s titanium alloy, and tucked it into his pocket. He helped Rodriguez through the different scans, explaining as he went how his program interacted with the data from each one to form a three-dimensional image of the missing bone and cartilage in his sunken face. Q would tweak the program’s model as needed and then his medical-grade 3D printer would create the new jaw piece in a matter of hours.
Afterward, Rodriguez popped his inferior prosthetic back into his mouth and said, “You will sell all of this to a hospital within three months. Tell me I’m wrong.” And he smiled his mad, pleasant smile at Q.
Q opened his mouth to disagree only to close it again. Sell it all to a hospital, train a technician, dive back into research again... God, that sounded good.
It also sounded like a terrible move, financially. Prosthetics came with a lot of job security. People weren’t likely to stop losing limbs.
“You will, darling,” Rodriguez said, like a prophet. “And when you do, you’ll make something lovely and new for me to play with, something to keep me out of your files a little better. Let me know when you need another test.” Rodriguez winked at him.
The wink felt like a slug crawling down his spine. “Thank you for your business,” Q managed to say nonetheless, and reminded Rodriguez of his total. Thank God for that one summer job at Tesco’s.
Rodriguez paid with cash and a lingering look that took in Q’s body from his chukka boots to his tousled hair. “You will not see me again,” he said. “Not unless I am very lucky indeed. But I will see you, clever boy.”
Q swallowed. “Goodbye, Mr. Rodriguez,” he said firmly. “Have a nice day.” Anti-stalking and anti-surveillance programs seemed like increasingly relevant areas of research.
Rodriguez laughed again. He left an address that didn’t exist for Q to mail the prosthetic to. At the end of the day, Q dropped the package into the delivery box anyway. It was gone the next morning.
Rodriguez never came back, but Q woke up in a cold sweat some nights, peering into the shadows for the glint of his hair.
Within two months, there was no longer a prosthetics office for Rodriguez to return to.
Within two years, he had submitted his job application to MI6 using their very own computers. Not long afterward, a virus with a grinning skull visual blew up Q’s place of work.
Rodriguez’s jaws had only been half-there, rotted in his face like the man seemed to be in his soul, and in the face of that---well, Q could deal with some sugar skulls.
Think on your sins, the virus read.
Q’s, he knew, was pride. He hadn’t had his fall yet, and as long as Rodriguez hadn’t dipped into international terrorism, he was pretty sure he’d be fine.
#007 fest#team00#raoul silva#qsilva#castillon writes#castillon002#for the 'fear' and Silva/Q prompts
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I'd make room for you
I'd sail ships for you
To be close to you To be a part of you
'Cause I believe in you
I believe in you
I would die for you
(AU: Q is Silva's protege.)
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talk to me of spring and fall, chapter two
And I thought it wouldn't get a sequel
Someone stop me if I'm spamming the tag, please
clickie here!
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can I get some silvaq hcs, please? this day's been circus fire
I'm sorry this day has been a mess(TM), here some QSilva headcanons for you!
1. Raoul is very self-conscious about his prosthetic, to the point it takes him a long time before he even allows Q to kiss his cheek - let alone to allow himself to be seen without the prosthetic in place.
2. They never code together on the same project. The absurd perfectionism, the constant need to one up one another, the different coding style.. it all means that they would spend the entire time bickering rather than actually doing anything productive.
3. Every cool gun Q has tried to make for Raoul, while appreciated because a weapon is always handy, has never been as loved by the other man as the perfectly balanced throwing knife that Q has forged for him on MI6 dime while he was bored monitoring missions.
4. They are comfortable sharing silence while they pursue their own interests; it's not unusual for Q to be sprawled next to Raoul on the couch, sketching weapons and drinking tea, while the other man hacks his way into literally everywhere.
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fic: Unfinished Duet, Q/Silva
Title: Unfinished Duet
Author: kyrilu
Fandom: Skyfall (2012)
Characters/Pairings: Q/Raoul Silva, background Severine/Silva
Summary: Raoul says, impress me, and Grey steals him an island.
Link: AO3
Notes: ...Theresa, you said you were wondering what I wrote for creative writing class. THIS IS IT, only slightly edited/changed.
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