#007 fest 2020

[earlgreyinpajamas]

hii do you have any more fake dating fics? ty!

merthur

The Proposition by fifty_fifty

Hit by another scandal and with the reputation of the monarchy hanging on by a thread, Prince Arthur finds himself in desperate need of an image rehabilitation.

When the press assumes his blossoming friendship with his maths tutor Merlin is more of a romance, his father proposes a proposition: ask Merlin to continue portraying a wholesome relationship for a few months to regain the prince’s reputation, and receive his university costs paid off in full in return.

With his image restored and a new beau lined up, Arthur is left with a difficult decision; bend to his fathers will, or defy him.

In the end, it’s not such a tough choice. Love always wins.

~~~

the ending slaps

2. (it feels like we're just) too close by kirani (@merlinisnotover)

Merlin and Arthur are taken captive and assumed to be a soulmate pair. When Merlin realizes they don't know who Arthur is, he decides to play along. The truth of the matter is a bit more complicated.

~~~

ack this is cute

3. Following the Custom by TyalanganD (@tyalangand)

"So, the magic is a bit like the land, yeah? A king vows to protect the land, and in the ancient tradition, it’s almost as if he gets married to it. The Sorcerer is an embodiment of the land. So, the druids expect…”

“…expect me to be married to you?”

“No, no!” Merlin’s ears are on fire now, which can only mean he looks like a startled stoat with two red flags. “They know that dynasties don’t work that way, they’re not stupid.”

“Glad to hear that. What do they require of me, then?”

“Well, to show me… affection. When we receive their delegation, they’ll be looking for signs that you truly accepted magic, my lord. If they see you behaving towards me as you do usually, they might take offence.”

~~~

this is how the show should have went down!!!

00q

Call Me Darling, I Come Running by samanthahirr (@samanthahirr)

On a quiet night off in London, Bond receives a mysterious text to come to Q's aid. But just what kind of trouble is Q in? And why does he require Bond to pose as his boyfriend?

~~~

a must read!!

2. Important Dates by AtoTheBean

After a brief attempt at retirement, James is back at MI6 and working hard to rebuild working relationships with his colleagues and friends. And he's making great strides.

Only Q continues to hold him at arm's length, maintaining a stubborn professionalism in their interactions that James remains unable to pierce.

But James doesn't want Q at arm's length, and so he takes a risk. But even a spy's instincts can run amok, and now James wonders just how long he'll be reaping what he's sown, and how many holidays it will take to win Q over.

~~~

there's a chapter in here where they're undercover for a mission

3. Under The Covers by storm_of_sharp_things

007 Fest 2020

Fill 6 of 9 for collab prompt table Thanks to Celyan for the prompt: For mission related reasons, Q has to join Bond in the field (preferably for a longer mission) and he has to do it as Bond’s fake boyfriend, while simultaneously keeping it a secret from nosy friends and superiors alike that he and Bond are already in a very committed relationship.

James and Q settle into the LGBTQ+ community in Arosa, Switzerland, on an undercover mission to discover some important information from their target, who attends Gay Ski Week every year in January.

~~~

not sure if you'd count this as fake dating, but i thought it was an fun premise so it's here

#merthur fic recs #00q #merthur fanfic #merlin #bbc merlin #merthur fic rec #merthur #00q fanfiction #00q fic recs #00q fic rec #merlin emrys #merlin bbc #merthur fanfiction #merthur fic #merthur kiss

[samanthahirr]

samanthahirr's 007 Fest 2023 Masterpost

COMMENTS

510 comments! With comment-multiplier bonus points, that's 700 points for comments!

FICS 

(>750 words)

(No) More Than This (Chapter 1-2)

We Eat First With Our Eyes (2022 Prompt #6 "nsfw")

The Chase (Chapters 1-4) (2022 Prompt #6 "nsfw")

(750-2,500 words)

Relating in Kindness

With Heart Hardened

FIC SUMMARIES (i.e. "stories sam isn't writing")

The Vampire from the Deep * (2020 Prompt #31 "Vesper is a vampire")

Office Hours

The Quartermaster's Mission Holiday (2018 Prompt #22 "And then they were roommates" & 2023 Prompt #222 "Enjoying a nice view")

COCKTAIL RECIPES

The Skeleton's Bite *

The Jamaica Contact with a Side of Danger *

Jinx's Bikini *

The Blow Me Away *

Mr. Hinx Fizzy *

Paradise Bird ^

INCORRECT QUOTE MEMES

00Q - I want to wake up with you

Bond/Swann - You often use humor to deflect trauma ^

NomiPenny - How's the sexiest person here? ^

Bond/Moneypenny - Better off as friends ^

Bond/Tanner - I'm getting in the shower ^

Bond/Boothroyd - I want to kiss you ^

Q/Bond/Moneypenny - Sorry I'm late *^

Tanner/Mallory - Are you trying to seduce me? *^

Bond/Tracy - I don't do relationships ^

Bond/Mansfield - I really like your top ^

Bond/Felix - We both look very handsome tonight ^ (2023 Prompt #223 "Insecure about how they look")

HEADCANONS

10 Hosiery Habit Headcanons *

Bill Tanner's Bedding Set (2023 Prompt #22 "Flowers")

Original Character - Gina Castillo's Case File *

5 Biggest Swimwear-Embarrassments Headcanons * ^ ^ ^

7 HR Complaints Against MI6 Staff Headcanons ^

SCAVENGER HUNT TASKS

#1 leave someone an anonymous comment of positivity *

#6 create a crossword puzzle: "007 Animals"

#9 (x5) create an incorrect quote meme, images optional

#12 write an acrostic poem: "Moon Moth" *

#17 create a film poster with a local landmark "The Dying Reflection"

#25 show a character's bedding set "Bill Tanner's Bedding Set"

#26 show your pet working for MI6 "009-Lives"

#29 (x2) solve a Find the Difference post (@bluebellofbakerstreet & @kitten-kin)

#30 create a cocktail recipe "The Skeleton's Bite"

#33 (x3) solve a crossword puzzle (castillon02 & bluebellofbakerstreet & kitten-kin)

#35 spot a Bond reference in the wild "50 Bond Gadgets You Can Own"

#36 create a fancast film poster "First with a Bullet" (Aldis Hodge)

#43 gift a fanwork to a member of another team: "Drabble: Alec/Bond" for @emiliasilverova

#46 create an incorrect quote meme, images required: "I want to wake up with you"

#48 collaborate with a teammate: "The Chase" with @aprettyspy

MOODBOARDS/COVER ART

The Vampire from the Deep moodboard

The Quartermaster's Mission Holiday moodboard

Office Hours moodboard

Original Character - Gina Castillo's Case File moodboard

(No) More Than This cover art

We Eat First with Our Eyes cover art

6 Cocktail Recipe title cards (see above)

MISCELLANEOUS

Off the Books playlist (2023 Prompt #198 "create a playlist for a fic")

Fancast Film Poster "First with a Bullet" (Charlize Theron)

Drabble - MoneyTanner ^ (2017 Prompt #4)

Drabble - Tanner/Mansfield * ^

Drabble - Alec/Bond *

BETA'D WORKS

1 fic for @emiliasilverova (Achillean Delights)

2 chapters for @hammerbacks (Taking in Water chapter 2 & Warm Water chapter 9)

2 chapters of "The Chase" for @aprettyspy

EVENTS

1 film (Flash Gordon) hosted

1 Productivity Hours hosted

1 Bond Bingo Hour attended

4 Productivity Hours attended

5 Longfic Readalongs attended

* indicates Theme Day bonus ^ indicates Unique Rare Pair Ship bonus

510 comments, 15 theme days, 17 unique rare pair ships, 9 fics/chapters posted, 3 fic summaries, 11 incorrect quote memes, 3 drabbles, 6 cocktail recipes, 24 headcanons…and a dozen more miscellaneous creations! I had no idea I could be so productive/creative in a single month! 

Endless thanks to my @teamqbranch captain and cheerleaders and teammates for their support and encouragement! I'm grateful I got to spend so much time with all of you this month. And a huge thank you to the @mi6-cafe mods for organizing such an awesome event! And now I need a nice long nap.

TOTAL POINTS FOR 2023 FEST = 1,670

#007 fest 2023 #007 fest #007 fest masterpost #teamqbranch #i survived #00q #stories sam isn't writing #my writing #james bond #007

[teamcivilian]

Insult to Injury: The Director's Cut — Ch01 [Revised]

Warnings: Intense scenes of violence including torture, sexual content, nudity and language, allusions to childhood trauma/abuse.

Rating: M

Genre: Crime/Drama with a side of romance.

Summary: A troubled psychiatrist desperate to escape past criminal ties is drawn into a far more insidious schism. [Post-Skyfall, Pre-NTtD]

07/15/2022 — This is going to be the final rewrite. Aside from some big fixes (Madeleine’s profession as a psychatrist rather than psychologist, aging her up by one year, switching "college" to "university", giving the PSD its own name, etc) I made an effort to tighten up the dialogue and characterization overall. At the time I was originally working on this (2020-2021) I pulled a lot of information from fan-wikis; as such, there were some conflicting details I overlooked for the sake of convenience. It still might not be perfect, but I’d rather move forward than stay trapped in development hell.

Whether you’ve been reading since early 2020, or are new to the story in time for 007 Fest 2022, I hope you enjoy what’s in store! —Dorminchu

— ACT I —

“Most rich people have a gangster in their ancestry somewhere.” ― Ken Follett, Winter of the World

I: FORGIVING WHO YOU ARE, FOR WHAT YOU STAND TO GAIN

2003; Madeleine was eighteen, fresh out of Ermitage International School. Just a week before, she’d talked things out with her academic counsellor. Mental health was a very important subject to her. She had always admired those who could help others who lacked the knowledge or courage to take the first step. She wanted to go into psychiatry. Looking back on it, she probably sounded like every other self-impressed trust-fund looking to cajole his or her way into advanced placements.

The counsellor simply sat behind his desk and listened, nodding every once in a while. He was getting paid either way. “Have you decided what university you will be attending?”

Madeleine explained that she had put in a few different applications already.

The counsellor said, “These positions go quickly. Put in a couple more. Oxford is a good choice.”

Madeleine paused. Money was not exactly a problem for someone attending Ermitage, but she didn’t want to go flaunting this around. She thanked him for his time and information, and left.

The very next morning Madeleine opened her laptop—a birthday gift from her father, kept for convenience’s sake—to a series of emails confirming her acceptance into Oxford. Tuition payments. High-priority placements. So on, so forth.

Her father never wrote. Never gave any indication that he had a daughter in his life, until she had gotten her baccalaureate.

With tears in her eyes, she read the messages over to make sure she was not mistaken. She composed herself, called her Aunt Droit and relayed the message. The tremble in her own voice mistaken for elation.

But the warmth in Droit’s voice stayed with Madeleine for years. “Congratulations, dear. You’ve worked very hard at this.”

Madeleine bit the inside of her cheek and hung up.

⁂

She spent the next four years at Oxford, plus one in the Sorbonne during her residency. Once she was a practicing psychiatrist, she could support herself without outside interference.

She embraced the temporary comfort of acquaintances who knew her as Madeleine Swann; disciplined in her studies, but always cordial to the part-time students. The type of person who was drawn into the orbit of socialisation. A tough nut to crack. Colleagues sought her advice on research projects. Some vying to get into her good graces. A couple guys might ask for her number and end up studying together for weeks. Most were appreciative, but eventually Madeleine earned an unshakeable reputation for being frigid.

Of course, not everyone was so disingenuous. Madeleine attended her fair share of lunches and off-campus events for the sake of networking opportunities, melding into a small-knit group of undergraduates with comparable grades. Arnaud, who was studying to be a clinical psychologist, only stuck out in her mind because he kept finding excuses to hang out between classes. He may as well have been making conversation to a brick wall, but his presence gave her an excuse to get out of parties and potential dates. She let him accompany her to and from the library without complaint. Even after he’d graduated, they still kept in touch.

After becoming a licensed psychiatrist in 2008, she immediately turned to non-profit work. That summer, there was a water crisis in Bolivia. Tuberculosis outbreak in Laos. 2009; aftermath of a military coup in Ethiopia.

In the spring of 2011, she moved back into Paris. Cycling between outpatient management at the hospital and private clinic; in the latter case, complete with her own office. The casual anecdotes she provided to her co-workers were about as as droll as her taste in décor—with the occasional concern about her walls being a little sterile, always passed along by the secretary. Not even a picture of yourself, Dr. Swann?

Out of the blue, Arnaud contacted her over email. He was a clinical psychologist now, working just a couple blocks away. How would she like to meet up again, just for old time’s sake?

Detached from the stress of a full-time enrolment, this gesture lost its annoyance. It was honestly flattering. She wasn’t that busy.

They caught up over in a local bar Madeleine forgot the name of. Arnaud was busy teaching, over in Hauts-de-Seine. He was a Senior Psychologist now. How was she doing, these days?

She mentioned the clinic, no problems there. The hospital as well. She had her own new circle of friends. He kept looking at her as she talked. On impulse, she offered to buy him shots. A belated celebration of their graduations.

Arnaud said, “You, drink? I’ve never seen you touch a glass.”

“That’s because I don’t, usually.” She took half a sip. Cringed. “Sorry, it’s been a while.”

“You don’t have to finish that.”

“Neither do you.”

Arnaud chuckled.

She said, “My mother used to drink a lot. I guess I thought I would always turn out like her one day, but that’s silly isn’t it.” She finished her drink. “You haven’t even touched yours. I bet I could drink your ass under this table.” She took his glass before he could so much as speak, downed it. She grinned. “See?”

Cut to half-an-hour later; Madeleine, vomiting her sandwich from six hours ago into the toilet while Arnaud kept her head up. 

She didn’t remember much besides waking up on the couch in her apartment, still in her clothes from the night before.

“How are you feeling?” said Arnaud. 

Madeleine groaned. She grabbed throw-pillow and mashed her face into it. “What time is it?”

“It’s just past two.”

Madeleine lay there until the faint odour of stale vomit was no longer tolerable. Cursing, she swatted it aside. “You didn’t have to stay.”

“It was no trouble,” he said. “You never told me you had family.”

“What?”

“That’s the first time you’ve mentioned any relatives.”

“I was drunk,” said Madeleine. “Don’t worry about it.” Madeleine lowered her hands, squinting at the light. She could make out his face. He looked like he hadn’t slept very well. “Well—what did I say?”

“Something about an aunt, and your mother. I didn’t catch all of it.”

A pit in her stomach that had nothing to do with her recent choices. Madeleine looked Arnaud in-between the eyes. “I’d rather forget about this, if it’s all the same to you.”

Arnaud frowned. “You’re not troubling me at all.”

From then on, she’d accompany him for walks in the Parc Georges-Brassens if the weather permitted. See him for lunch, or dinner. From every other weekend to every weekend.

As the months progressed it was difficult to find excuses to remain platonic. Not because she felt any particular, immediate attraction. She just couldn’t bring herself to relinquish her grip on someone so easily accessible. A heartless woman would string him along with false hope and drop him at the first sign of commitment; Madeleine accepted his offer to cohabit his apartment in Vaugirard. Separate bedrooms. Plenty of space to keep to themselves.

In lieu of a car, they’d share public transit. He’d tease her for checking the corners of the bus each time, but he would also wait up for her on long shifts. Whomever came home first fixed dinner, so on, so forth.

Two years later, they were still together. Her co-workers wondered how she and Arnaud could balance their careers and relationship when she made three times as much as he did in a year.

⁂

In the winter of 2013 Madeleine applied for a position as psychiatrist with the Médecins Sans Frontières. A week into March, she got an email confirming her placement. A three-month mission in Conakry, Guinea, May through July, with the possibility of an extension. Madeleine had relayed this information to both the clinic and the hospital, so there was no worry.

Now it was April. Sitting in the comfort of her office, reading over electronic pamphlets and advisories. In a couple weeks she would be working in far less hospitable conditions. Non-profit work always looked good on a résumé.

Checking her laptop, tabbed over to a different page: Guinean Visa and Passport Requirements: All non-ECOWAS foreigners are required to have a valid Guinean visa and a vaccination card in order to be granted entry. Yellow fever vaccination cards are verified upon entry into the country at Gbessia. Approval for the visa necessitated a seventy-two-hour window of clearance.

She sat back with a headache settling just around the base of her skull. Alone with four polished wooden walls and the analog clock, the fluorescent lighting fixed her to a single moment in time.

A knock at her door snapped her out of contemplation. It was the senior consultant. Madeleine motioned him in, closing the laptop.

“I’m surprised you don’t sleep in that office,” he said.

“That would save some money on bus fare.” She opened the cabinet of folders under her desk, filing away documents from that day’s session.

“How’s Arnaud?”

“He’s doing well.”

The consultant nodded. As she packed up, walked towards her door he was looking at her with something close to sympathy. “You are serious about this mission in Conakry?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

His face darkened. “Have you seen the news lately?”

“Oh, I doubt they would be looking for applicants if the situation were that severe.” Madeleine smiled dryly. “But, there is always a chance I’ll die doing what I love. I can’t think of a better way to go.”

The consultant’s uneasy laugh caused the secretary to glance at them through the doorframe. Madeleine hit the light on the way out.

⁂

Late at night, the weather was on that precipice between winter and spring. An overcast sky, grey and still. By the time Madeleine was opening the door to the apartment, she was grateful to get away from the chill seeping into her skin.

Arnaud, still dressed for work, was sitting on the sofa with last month’s issue of The International Journal Of Psychoanalysis. Without her pitching in, he’d be working part-time shifts at the clinic and teaching night classes just to make end’s meet. He looked up and said, “You’re back late. I took care of dinner.”

Madeleine shrugged out of her coat. “Thanks. I got held up at the clinic.”

“What for?”

She went over to the closet and hung her coat up. “Just lost track of time. I had a pretty busy shift. I’ve been weighing my options lately. This year, I’ll probably be moving to a different clinic. I’ll have to relocate to Spain, or Switzerland. Drag you along.” She looked at him because he hadn’t said anything. “You have enough to worry about.”

Arnaud readjusted his glasses. “I’ve got my degree. I can get a job just about anywhere you go.”

For the most part, Arnaud was easy to live with. Their schedules did not always leave time to get acquainted with each other’s inner thoughts.

Madeleine said, “Can I get your coat?”

He looked up at her, sitting up and shrugging out of it. “Yes, thank you.”

She took his coat, walked back over to the closet, paused. “I put in a position with MSF a few weeks ago. It’s possible I won’t be back until August.” The silence protracted. Madeleine came back into the living room. “I meant to tell you earlier.”

“No, no. I’m grateful you decided it would be convenient for you to tell me at all.”

Madeleine stiffened. “Don’t start this now.”

“Last year,” said Arnaud flatly, “you were gone for six months on some psychiatry tour, you wouldn’t tell me where. This year I had to ask around your office. Conakry? You know what’s happening over there?”

“That’s exactly why I need to go. They’re in need someone with my skillset.”

“You ever take a moment to consider what would happen if you don’t come back?”

“It’s a risk I am willing to take.”

He scoffed. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this?”

“Because you’ve never volunteered outside of a mental health ward, let alone this country.”

“Not everyone has the luxury of working eight-hour shifts or leaving the country for months at a time.”

Madeleine stiffened. He had no right to use this against her. Everyone made mistakes, it had just slipped her mind, and now he wanted to turn it into a bigger issue. “I don’t need to be paid to make a difference in someone’s life. Why is that so difficult to understand?”

“Jesus, listen to yourself. This isn’t a competition.”

“If you’re so worried about it, maybe you should come along. Make sure I’m not in any real danger. Why not take some pictures while you are at it? You can put those on your wall at work.”

Each time they went out to dinners with old colleagues, now, they would say—oh, you’re still doing volunteer work abroad? That’s so admirable, Madeleine—and Arnaud nodded along with a tight smile. Each of them had found success in their respective fields. Arnaud and his colleagues spoke about their personal lives with an ease, an intimacy which Madeleine could never quite reciprocate.

Arnaud took his glasses off. “Right. I’m no different that that furniture set. Something you buy to make your life a little more complete.”

Madeleine’s eyes hardened. “That’s a ridiculous thing to say.”

Arnaud shut the magazine. “Aren’t you going to have some dinner?”

“What about you?”

“I was out with some friends. I’ve already eaten. You can have some if you like.”

Madeleine frowned. She went into the kitchen. Leftovers from the night before. A quiet dinner for one.

“I should have told you,” she said again, while Arnaud came back, prepped the dishwasher to run. “I’m sorry.”

He paused with his thumb on the extra rinse button. “You should have your own life and interests, outside of mine. I’ve never volunteered abroad. I’m sure it’s very rewarding.”

He walked out. Madeleine could not argue to an empty room.

⁂

By the end of April, she was getting ready to depart. Arnaud was still asleep when she left for her 06:30 flight.

The situation in Guinea had not improved so much as stabilised. Madeleine was assured that the MSF members on-site had already taken precautions, and she’d be instructed further on what to do upon her arrival. She was advised to vaccinate, just to be on the safe side―according to her medical records, she would not need another round of shots until 2015.

Sometime around February, a group of diamond miners in South Africa had been exposed to an unidentified gas while working in the lowest depths. There were multiple deaths, and far more instances of atrioventricular block and cardiac arrest, ataxia, blindness, nausea and vomiting; all symptoms related to blister agent poisoning.

The official statement put forth claimed the gas came from a hidden stash of chemical weapons by terrorists. It had been struck mistakenly and exposed the workers to its effects. The pictures of the victims plastered all over news sites were reminiscent of chemical burns. So the mine had to be shut down for an indefinite period.

In the lobby of the Grand Hotel de L’independence Madeleine was introduced to the Project Coordinator; a shorter man in his mid-forties with a photogenic smile and toupee. He clasped her hand in both of his clammy ones and said: “Very glad you’ve made it, Doctor. We need you on-site as soon as possible.”

By the time she got to her room on the second floor, a fine sheen of sweat had built on her skin. Her luggage was waiting for her on the bench. Off-white walls and bedsheets, a couple wooden chairs. One lamp on the wall beside the desk, two flanking the headboard. The sofa beside the bed looked older than the rest of the furniture. The red and blue pillows as a thoughtful accent were probably new. Everything was clean, though the flatscreen television looked out-of-place. The air quality inside the room was stuffy. No point in lingering here.

On-site at Donka Hospital she met up with the Medical Coordinator and Psychosocial Unit. An isolation ward had been established before the MSF’s involvement, but they were at full capacity; the workers coming and going from there were all clad in full-body personal protective equipment. Another section of the grounds had been set aside and fenced off; rows of tents all lined up. No matter where you went the stench of rot always seemed to hang pervasively in the air.

The other members on the Psychosocial Unit were as amicable as the situation permitted. There wasn’t time to get to know each other outside of their professions and the given assignment.

All of them were good on paper but betrayed their inexperience through a shared level of idealism. Fresh into their respective fields, they were coming here not simply to lend their aid to those in need, but to make a difference. They were all observing the crises of the rest of the world through the same lens of journalism and commercialized empathy. It could not prepare them for the experience of actually sitting down and listening to what their patients talked about with prosaic sincerity.

Conversations were conducted in French, or else by way of an interpreter, though the sentiment in the voices of these patients was palpable. Death was an expected outcome. Implications of negligence or corruption in the government were a common topic of discussion among patients and hospital staff alike.

There was a growing disparity between the narrative put into circulation by the news and what was happening in the field. According to several members of the MSF and the staff at Donka, the media had grossly exaggerated the problem. The workers whose condition had kicked off the initial “chemicals in the mine” story had been subjected to long-term exposure. Most of the patients that came through after that were not as grievously injured, but showed traces of the same poisoning. The photos created a narrative that incited concern in the public eye and incentivized the need for donations. Now the government wanted to cover up the severity of the situation as not to detract from any potential business opportunities; until the MSF got involved, they were only employing the most rudimentary of safety procedures.

The rest of June crawled by without any major incidents. By July the MSF were in the process of dealing with an influx of internally displaced persons (IDPs). There had been a flurry of similar incidents in surrounding prefectures. Thanks to the cooperation with the local civilians and tireless efforts on part of the medical staff and MSF Medical Unit, there had been a forty-five-percent decrease in fatalities compared to the initial wave back in February.

But the hospital was overwhelmed. The topic of insurgence was the new favourite with patients; a consequence of the lack of tangible progress coupled with deep-seated mistrust of government officials. Now the Force Sécurité/Protection, or FSP, had been brought on in collaboration with an additional Protective Services Detail (PSD) by the name of SFT, to ensure the hospital and surrounding property remained untouched.

The latter was a point of contention. Accepting outside assistance from the government directly, rather than working out a compromise, allowed the possibility for interference. But the Project Coordinator was in full support of additional protection around the hospital, as well as the hotel.

Each morning, before work, Madeleine and the rest of the Psychosocial Unit were reviewing protocol in the event of an attack. Outright criticism of methods in handling the situation was discouraged. Madeleine was savvy enough to keep herself abreast of any controversy. For the rest of the Psychosocial Unit, they were either too naïve or willing to look the other way.

The one exception to this was the Vaccines Medical Advisor, Dr. Kessler. He worked on the Medical Unit. Madeleine had cooperated with him a handful of times at the behest of the Medical Coordinator and gathered that Dr. Kessler had gotten into a dispute with the Medical Team a couple days ago. Madeleine wasn’t around to hear the details, but some of the younger MSF members talked about him less discreetly. Kessler was just out-of-touch. He lacked consideration for the emotional states of those affected severely by these recent attacks. He was jumping to conclusions with faulty information passed on by hearsay.

As the situation in the hospital became more desperate he would stay behind on-site, late into the evening. Whenever they had a break, he would disappear on calls. He acknowledged her judgements but remained standoffish whenever he was not working. She found nothing wrong with his conduct.

Over one break, he said, “I was supposed to be home last month, but with the situation being what it is, I decided to stay on until things are resolved.” He did not sit down, his attention turned towards the path back to the infected ward. “Bringing in a proper security detail at this stage—we’re sitting ducks. Who the hell does the Project Coordinator think we’re fooling?” Madeleine ignored him. “Dr. Swann. The Medical Coordinator tells me you’ve been involved in volunteer work for a while. Perhaps they would be more willing to listen to someone with your expertise.”

“I was not selected for my personal opinions.”

Dr. Kessler chuckled. “Well, may I run something by you? In confidence.” Madeleine glanced over at him. “I think, what we are dealing with here is something more dangerous than a few terrorists. When these IDPs come in, with all of the cases I've seen, there is no evidence of the chemical agent on their clothing. The mines should have been shut down months ago, but they have not ceased operation.” He looked at her meaningfully. “Tell me, how does this make sense?”

A moment of recognition passed between them. She could not acknowledge him outright. Her father had many enemies and it was foolhardy to assume they would not follow her to the ends of the earth. She looked at Dr. Kessler and saw an honest man. She said,

“With all due respect, I wouldn’t know about the greater picture. I don’t want to say anything if I cannot back it up. It seems strange because we don't have all the information to explain it, but there must be a logical reason.”

Dr. Kessler nodded. Probably marking her down as another of those young idealists, just here to get her stamp.

So Madeleine changed the topic to something more palatable: “You have been late the last several times we worked together. May I ask why?” His expression faltered into a temporary window of vulnerability. “I shouldn’t have been so blunt. But you leave often enough on calls, and it appears to be taking a toll on you. The medical staff are not in a reasonable state of mind.”

“That’s all right. It’s just my wife and son. This past month has been no easier on them.” Then he looked at her. “A lot of these people we care for don’t have the luxury of a plane ticket home. Sometimes, I think it would be easier to do this work alone.”

Madeleine did not anticipate the conversation to take such a turn, nor did she plan to divulge much about herself. But she could not deflect from answers as she could in the clinic, and Kessler seemed forthright enough to warrant a harmless response. “I know what you mean. Right now, I’m living with a friend. We graduated from university together. He tends to lead his own life while I am away, but he is very understanding of what I do.”

“It’s a great deal to ask of someone.” Madeleine inclined her head in his direction. Kessler’s mouth was set, and his eyes behind the glasses disillusioned. “Few people would devote themselves to a thankless vocation as this out of the goodness of their hearts. Just remember that not everyone is going to want to stick around until you decide you’re ready to settle down.”

Madeleine’s smile did not touch her eyes. “He’s a psychologist. We have an understanding, that’s all. I don’t bother him about his social life.”

Kessler shook his head. In a few minutes they were back to work, as if their conversation had never happened. 

As July carried on, she found her mind snagging easily on technicalities. She became less tolerant of the Psychological Unit’s personal hang-ups with the lack of resources and lack of any obvious moral closure. Smell of rot and disinfectant permeated into her clothing and hair until she had begun to associate the smell itself with a lack of progress.

She kept the window in her hotel room cracked, just to let some fresher air in. The room smelled like gasoline and sweat, but it was better than the alternatives. A little noise pollution kept her aware of her surroundings, alone with her own mind and the recorder. Conversations with the IDPs and their families circled back to death and terrorism. An overwhelming fear of retaliation from some formless, looming insurrection.

Madeleine paused the recording. She checked the time and cursed under her breath. Just past one in the morning. In six hours she would return to Donka Hospital and repeat the process. In a week she would be on a flight back to Paris.

Outside her window she heard the distant voice of Dr. Kessler. He was conversing in German, from a few storeys down, right by the outdoor pool. As Madeleine came over to the window she understood him clearly:

“…we’ve seen evidence of PMCs coming through, exhibiting the same symptoms as the IDPs we treated back in February. How we can expect to make any progress if the Project Coordinator refuses to bring this up? We’re putting God-knows how many lives at risk waiting for a vaccine that we don’t know if we need—and even so, it won’t be ready for another month. There’s not enough time to justify keeping silent about….”

Madeleine closed the window carefully. She’d never been one to intrude on personal matters.

⁂

That night Madeleine’s dreams were interspersed with the sounds of sirens and heavy traffic. She woke up the next morning, unrested and sore, an hour early. Watching the shadows on the ceiling cross over peeling paint. At 07:00 she got ready for the day. Exiting her room, she found the Project Coordinator by the elevators, talking with the head of security from SFT and a couple Donka Hospital staff Madeleine knew by sight but not intimately.

Apparently a surplus of medical supplies had arrived by truck, around three or four in the morning. Several members of the Medical Unit had stayed on-site in order to determine if everything had been accounted for only to find out it was rigged. Thanks to the intervention of the PSD, losses were minimal. Several doctors had suffered chemical exposure and were currently isolated from the rest of the IDPs to receive immediate medical attention. Others, such as Dr. Kessler and the psychologist consultant from the Psychosocial Team, had been less fortunate.

Now there was additional pressure from the hospital doctors and Logistics Team to begin moving the high-risk patients to a safer area. The fear that this story would circulate and any chance of obtaining additional supplies would be discouraged could not be ruled out. So they would not be reporting this as a chemical attack, but as an interception of a failed attack by local terrorists.

The head of security, Lucifer Safin, noticed her first. Black suit, a leather gun holster on his left side. Distinctly scarred from his right temple to the base of his left jaw. Too intricate to be leprosy or a typical burn wound, yet the structure of his eyes and nose remained intact. Possibly chloracne? “Dr. Swann. I understand that you were one of the last to speak with Dr. Kessler?”

Up until this point, they'd not talked. She might just catch a glimpse of him walking with a couple soldiers in the morning heat; in spite of the weather she had never seen Safin without leather gloves.

There was a hushed quality to his voice which might indicate internal damage, but he was able to project without difficulty. Accent would suggest a Czech or Russian ethnicity, but his complexion and eye colour invited room for speculation. His manner wasn’t explicitly taciturn, more akin to the disconcerting silence one might experience while looking into a body of still-water—met only with your reflection.

“Yes,” said Madeleine, “but that was nearly five days ago.”

Safin glanced at the Project Coordinator. “I’ll speak with her alone.”

“Of course.”

They walked down the length of the hall back to her room. His gait was purposeful and direct.

Of all the useless things to be thinking about, his name was what stuck out to her. After growing up in a family with fake passports and birth certificates it was possible Lucifer was simply an alias.

Her attention went to the window. She’d forgotten to lock it.

He said, “I have just a few questions. What was the extent of your relationship to Dr. Kessler?”

“We talked once or twice. I didn’t know him that well. He told me he had stayed behind, in order to assist the medical unit. And he has―had a family, back home. He seemed close to them.”

“You have worked with him before?”

“Never directly. I have my own responsibilities with the Psychosocial Unit.” Safin said nothing. He was looking around carefully at the room, the furniture. His eyes came to rest on the window. He walked over to it. “From what I have gathered, Dr. Kessler and the Project Coordinator had opposing views on protocol.”

“Did he speak to you about these views?” 

Madeleine thought about their last conversation. The desperate look in Kessler's eyes. That moment of connection, tacit and fragile.

“He expressed, in confidence, that he did not understand the Project Coordinator’s hesitance to bring in a security detail. He considered the possibility of an attack by outside forces to be imminent.”

“You are aware,” Safin said, “that once humanitarian action is subsumed into broader military and political intervention, it may be perceived as interference.”

He was looking at her closely. The early morning light put his disfigurement into a new, unsettling clarity. Madeleine said, “I think you would be better off asking the other doctors about this.”

“We have video surveillance in place on the Grand Hotel de L’independence. At around one in the morning, Dr. Kessler exited the building and contacted an unknown party by mobile phone. A minute later, you were at the window.”

“Yes, I had forgotten to close it.”

“Your room was the only one to show signs of activity at that hour.”

“I was reviewing my notes from that day’s session. I heard a voice from outside, though not clearly. It was distracting me, so I got up and closed the window. I don’t know what the conversation was about.”

“This is common for you?”

“I left the window open because otherwise I seem to find myself trapped with the smell of rotting flesh.”

Safin’s expression became easier to read, but not in a positive sense. Madeleine kept any apprehension away from her face and her voice tightly controlled.

“Without information about Dr. Kessler’s lifestyle outside the MSF, I cannot give you an answer in good faith. His work was sound. Whatever he said to me was assumed to be in confidence. Many people say things to one another in what they believe to be confidence that they would not admit to otherwise. If I had reason to suspect he was unfit to work, I would have contacted the Medical Advisor immediately.”

Safin held her gaze for much longer than was necessary. She did not dare avert her face. He said,

“The Project Coordinator is waiting for you downstairs. We appreciate your cooperation.”

The rest of the day she spent in a different wing of the hospital. The Psychosocial Unit was cut down from four members to two. Another day of thankless work that never seemed quite good enough. That evening, Madeleine was informed she would have to stay on to make up for lost ground, at least until August. The MSF offered a lot of flowery, empty apologies which she accepted because there was nothing else to do.

When she’d arrived at the airport she could stave off her doubts with shallow, private reassurances. Right now, you are just Dr. Swann the psychiatrist. Your father is many miles away and he won’t contact you again unless you call him to grovel. No one else will come looking for you in a place like this. Undoubtedly this hospital was safer under the watch of the Security Manager from SFT than it would have been with the FSPs alone. Why was she still tense?

⁂

By August, the sunnier days gave way almost completely to rainfall. The wing of the hospital that had suffered the chemical attack was still closed and they had lost several more staff members. Madeleine and the remaining MSF were encouraged by the Project Coordinator to take earlier shifts. Progress remained steady, neither faltering nor immediate, but there was no clear resolution in sight. The stench of rot imprinted into Madeleine’s senses to the point where she no longer consciously registered her own nausea. Discontent among the staff continued to bubble under the surface on account of the closed wing and bad press.

At night, Madeleine would pore over her notes, listening to the passing automobiles and indistinct conversation. She drew the curtains in her hotel room and tied her hair back. Even indoors it was impossible to avoid the cloying embrace of humidity. 

The day started as just another humid morning at six AM. Madeleine rose and prepared herself mentally for the day ahead. There was an inordinate of activity on the road outside her window as she got dressed and left. Madeleine was thinking about how stress kept her mind working late into the night, but her position with the Psychosocial Unit barred her from working too many hours in the hospital. She was keeping up the pace, not yet to the point of exhaustion, but if they were seriously going to ask her to carry on into September she would have to find an alternative.

Outside the hotel she met up with the Medical Coordinator and a few members of the Logistics Unit. They spent about ten minutes standing idle in the humid air, too weary to speak. The usual FSP were on-guard by the hotel. Ever since the attack on Donka Hospital there were more of them standing around.

An unmarked black Jeep pulled up. The Medical Coordinator went up to it first. One of the FSP shouted in French. The Medical Coordinator’s head burst over the exterior of the vehicle, and Madeleine. The body slumped like a doll to the dirt. Madeleine wanted to scream but could not. She turned and saw Peter Miller, head of Logistics, facing down the barrel of a rifle. “Where are the rest of the MSF? Why are they not at the hospital?” Half a dozen more men stood behind him, all armed. 

Miller opened his hands in supplication. “I don't understand what you're—”

Two shots. Miller joined the Medical Coordinator. The insurgent was looking at Madeleine.

“You are from the hospital?” The rifle jutted into her sternum. Warm blood spattered across her skin and clothes, pooling at her feet. The sight of dry earth briefly mixed up with wooden floorboards. “You allowed them to experiment on us and our families like dogs! Who gave you the orders?”

She tried to say, I'm sorry, I don’t understand, but all that came out of her was a weak little gasp. One PSD broke from the group and came directly toward her.

She caught his black eyes, under the balaclava. The scarification impossible to mistake. He turned and shot the insurgent twice in the the head. He grabbed Madeleine by the waist, the way you might handle an animal, and opened the backdoor of the Jeep. Shoved her into the backseat. Checked the seatbelt. Shut the door. The front doors reopened. Two men entered the car. The hands on the steering wheel were mottled.

Additional round of gunfire set her into a fit of trembling. She ducked with her hands over her nape. The distinctive voice in the front seat overtaken by the roaring in her ears. She heard a voice whispering, “Ne me tuez pas. Je n’ai rien fait. Je ne sais rien.” 

#user: dorminchu #fanfic #fanfiction #canon divergence #madeleine swann #lyutsifer safin #original characters #teamcivilian #007 fest #007 fest 2022

[theblueharlequin]

Chapters: 22/22 Fandom: James Bond (Craig Movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, GoldenEye (1995) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Q (James Bond), Alec Trevelyan, James Bond, Eve Moneypenny, Bill Tanner, Charles Robinson (James Bond), M | Gareth Mallory, Q's cats Additional Tags: Never Repost My Work Anywhere, Linking is Fine, Headcanon, Food, Team Civilian, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, 007 Fest 2020, moodboard, Photography, Cats, scavenger hunt, Inspired by Music, Art, Tarot, Memes, Fanon Alec Trevelyan Series: Part 1 of Blue's 007 Fest 2020 Fics Summary:

Collection of things posted on tumblr for the 007 Fest 2020

#James Bond #Q #00Q #Alec Trevelyan #00Q00 #JAQ #my fanfiction #my writing

[reallyneedsalife]

reallyneedsalife's 007 Fest 2022 Master Post

I was so happy to be a part of 007 Fest this year, and being Co-Captain of Q-Branch has been absolutely wonderful! Lots of plans fell through, lots of things got written that were entirely pulled out of my arse and made up on the spot, but it is all over now until next year!

My overall total for this year is 504 points... I think. I'm not too certain but eh it's done and maths was never my strong suit.

Writing Total - 132 points

Two Birds :: 15 points Filled 1,000 words prompt, prompted work via Q-Branch prompts (this one supplied by 3NIGM4)

Lost, Never Found :: 5 points Filled 200 words prompt

Change. :: 5 points Filled 300 words prompt and made for NTTD Fix It Day

Moneypenny Knows Best :: 7 points Filled the Getting Together prompt, prompted work anonymously of "Write a (00Q) fic with the title of Moneypenny Knows Best" from 2020 Fest. 719 words.

On The Prowl :: 5 points Filled 100 words prompt and the Free Space theme prompt of Humour

Rumour has it :: 15 points Filled 850 words prompt, Outsider POV prompt and featured a rare pair in Bill Tanner & OC

gift giving and alarms :: 15 points Filled the 750 words and Established Relationship prompts and featured a rare pair in Moneypenny/R

Quanker Anustickle Iggywumpus III :: 5 points Filled Fluff/Humour prompt and 650 words prompt.

A Father's Love :: 10 points Filled prompt provided in 2022 Fest "Q got thrown out as a queer teenager and ended up being adopted by Boothroyd".

learning to fly :: 15 points Filled the Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies prompt

How 002 learned not to pick a fight with R :: 15 points Filled the Hurt/Comfort prompt and 2,000 words prompt and featured a rare pair in Q & R

Multichapter Works

where worlds collide (and days are dark) Ch1 :: soldier keep on marching on (10 points) Filled the Mission Fic prompt Ch2 :: careful son you've got dreamers plans (10 points) Filled the 950 words for Free Space

    

Other Fan Creation Total - 124 points

Atlantis edit :: 5 points

Let Me Down Slowly edit :: 5 points

Another Love edit :: 5 points

Transition edit :: 5 points

NTTD Age edit :: 5 points

Dench!M edit :: 5 points

My Future edit :: 5 points Filled Angst prompt

Sweater Weather edit :: 5 points

Queering the Characters edit :: 5 points

Queering the Characters Headcanons :: 6 points

Headcanons Pt 1 :: 15 points

Headcanons Pt 2 :: 13 points

Prompt Table Mood Boards :: 45 points (5 points per mood board x 9 mood boards)

      

Theme Days

NTTD Fix It Animals of Bond Headcanon Day Queering the Characters Day Participated in response to Villain Day challenge (code)

     

Miscellaneous Total - 27 points

Comments :: 17 comments (17 points) Attending an Event :: 5 sessions (5 points) (Casino Royal Watch Along Short Fic Readalong Q-Branch Productivity Hours x 2 Cards Against Bondmanity) 00Q Fanmix (5 points)

   

Bonus Total - 221 points

3 Prompt Tables :: 90 points (30 points x 3) 1 31-Day Challenge :: 75 points 4 Headcanon Bonus :: 56 points

   

OVERALL TOTAL :: 504 points (I have no idea if this is correct ^^')

#QB-X8 #007 Fest 2022 #team q branch #007 Fest Masterpost #masterpost #reallyneedsalife

[10kiaoi]

You didn’t think I was done with Fest, did you?😏 Consider this the ‘bang’ in ‘out with a bang’.  

Summary: The roads a spy treads upon are treacherous lands...

Warnings: Rated M for canon typical violence etc. You know the drill. Extremely unbetaed and has not been play tested/debugged by anyone other than myself so be gentle with the rollbacks lol.

Credits: Ramine (music), Pocket Sound (sfx)

Many thanks to @q00kies and @azure7539arts for motivating me to finally get this project off the ground. 

Download

Pc

Mac

Instructions

Download the folder according to your operating system

Extract the file

Run the game application 

Enjoy the game!

Now that that’s all cleared up...

01010011 01110100 01100001 01110010 01110100 00100000 01101110 01100101 01110111 00100000 01101101 01101001 01110011 01110011 01101001 01101111 01101110 00111111 00100000

#00q #007 fest #007 fest 2020 #teambondvillains #james bond #quartermaster #007 #visual novel #art by op #10kiaoi games #a la why i was gone for most of may and june #:'D #hms 00q

[q00kies]

♡ ☆ Help Q set up the perfect Valentine’s day date with Bond ☆ ♡

The sequel to 7 days in Q’s life, but you don’t really need to have played it to play this one.

Warnings: very cheesy + rating T for innuendos

> THREE ENDINGS with only one true ending >  two easter eggs > CREDITS Thanks to @soufflegirl91 for doing a beta of my work. Big thanks to artificial.music again.

> SOUNDTRACK

DOWNLOAD on q00kies.itch.io/v-day

Screencaps, reactions and playthroughs are greatly appreciated if you have time to make them!

give this work a kudo on ao3

#00q #007 fest 2020 #007 fest #team civilian

[mi6caferecipes]

Easy Bread for the Busy Boffin

Easy bread for the busy boffin by 0014 (@becausesubmissionsarebroke)

Listen up!

Want that delicous taste of homemade bread but dont have the time or skill to devote to it? Ever start something then go on a 12 hr binge and forget about it? Well this is the bread for you!

Ingredients:

3 cups all purpose flour

1 1/2 teaspoons salt

1/2 teaspoon instant yeast

1 1/2 cups room temperature water

Slam all those bad boys into a bowl and mix well. Now I've had this dough look a little wet and ive made this with the dough looking a little dry. Both turn out fine, but if you're nervous add a couple tablespoons of water to the dry dough. Take some plastic wrap and cover the top of the bowl. Bam! Go work on whatever you need to. Let that puppy sit for at least 12 hrs but you can leave it for longer if you forget about it. I've left it for up to 20+ hrs in the past, whatever your feeling is fine. Once you remember about your dough heat the oven to 450° F or 232° C. Take a cookie sheet, pizza pan, a dutch oven or a cast iron pan (just something big enough for the dough) and grease it/coat with flour. Whatever you've got on hand, if you're like me your cast iron pan is already seasoned so you dont need to add anything. Tip the dough out on to a surface that youve dumped a handful of flour on so it wont stick. Just use the same tool you used to mix the dough to pry it all out from the bowl. DONT KNEAD IT! Just shape it in a vaguely round shape, taking the rest of the flour and coating the outside so your fingers won't stick to it. Slap that sucker into what ever you're cooking it in. Once the oven is hot slide it in. Cook for ~45 mins until goldeny brown. If your oven is flakey like mine, keep it in there for ~1hr, test it by smacking it with the flat of a knife and if it sounds hollow its probably done. Pull it out and enjoy.

#007 fest #team00 #bread #recipe #007 fest 2020 #submission

[scarytheory]

SKYFALL: A ROMANTIC COMEDY

Scavenger Hunt #64 Create a better trailer for an existing Bond movie. Title must remain the same, but everything else can change.

Make a fake trailer is super easy, right? How hard can be work with Adobe Premiere? Hahaha. Well… Is it cringy? DEFINITELY! Do I love it? Oh, so much! This is my poorly edited baby, and I’m proud of it! 

And: Still a better love story than Spectre.

#007 Fest #007 Fest 2020 #TeamCivilian #fake trailer #trailer #james bond #00q #daniel craig #ben whishaw #skyfall #mine #fanvid #scavenger hunt

[teamdoubleoh]

Two kinds of dangerous.

#007 fest 2020 #team00 #005.Vi #00q #based on something but I lost it

[mi6-cafe]

007 Fest 2020 Winners and Prizes

First of all, congratulations to everyone for surviving July!

You all were absolute creation machines! The MI6 Cafe tumblr queue was always more than a full day of posting and there are 30 pages on AO3 with all your work from just this month. But, there must be a winner.

The winner of 007 Fest 2020 is… *drumroll*

Team Bond Villains! Congratulations!

We were blown away by the constant creation and enthusiasm coming from this team; you definitely deserve this win.

We did a random drawing among Team Villain for prizes, and the winners were:

@sunaddicted​ - Handmade Q10 soap from @christinefromsherwood​

@starrboned-art​  - A cross-stitched scrabble tile (any letter) from @soufflegirl91​

@iambid / Flantastic - art commission ( EITHER black and white with a simple background OR flat colours and no background ) from @starrboned-art​

@solarmorrigan​ - fic cover/banner  from @spiritofcamelot​

@stormofsharpthings​ - homemade Bond-themed soaps from @anyawen​

@a-forger-and-a-point-man​ - 15 or so DVD copies of various Bond films from @anyawen​

@shadow-in-the-light​ - Vintage 007 magnet  from @1amvengeance​

@azure7539arts​ - vintage lunchbox looking fridge magnet from @1amvengeance​

@10kiaoi​ - Art of the winner’s choosing  from @notwhatyouthoughtitwas (AsheTarasovich)

@blood-suits-and-tears​  - fic: any ship any fandom, more than 5k from @stormofsharpthings​

@soufflegirl91​ - a 5k+ fic as a prize. Any prompt, any genre, fluff, smut, angst, winner's choice from @iambid

@space-lover-345​ - a team mascot plushie from Dino

@lei-bin​ - 00q Aston Acrylic Charm from @10kiaoi​

@melynen​ - ceramic coffee mug with a Brno “komodo” dragon motive from @scarytheory​

@christinefromsherwood​ - Bond themed bookmark (Casino) from @svengooliecat​

@aliensdoodless​ - pencil-sized, or cosmetic-sized bag  from @wambold​

@oldestcharm​ - a prompted commission between 1-5k words for a winner. A’la Cats and Dogs from last year. from @ato-the-bean​

 We also did an all-participants drawing, and the winners were:

@ladymars - a ficlet from @christinefromsherwood

@moneypennyshipsit - handmade Q10 soap from @christinefromsherwood

@scarytheory - handmade Paddington Bear soap from @christinefromsherwood

@bonesandchekov - a fic or a poem from @soufflegirl91

@nothingtosay - mini doodle from @starrboned-art

@aramiheartilly - minidoodle from @starrboned-art

@ravenclawkwardly - fic cover/banner  from @spiritofcamelot

@ato-the-bean - lined blank journals from @anyawen

Kira_Katashi - Bond themed bookmark (Dr. No) from @svengooliecat

@sparklycitrus - pour and melt soap from @1amvengeance

@fallingintomagic - pour and melt soap from @1amvengeance

@becausesubmissionsarebroke - digital googly eye bookmarks from @1amvengeance

@mr-quartermaster - a fic: any ship any fandom, less than 5k from @stormofsharpthings

@themuller13 - pencil-sized, or cosmetic-sized bag  from @wambold

@lille082 - podfic (20k word limit) from @oldestcharm

@boffin1710 - 00Q suiting up sticker from @10kiaoi

@choutarouootori - 00Q suiting up sticker from @10kiaoi

All prize winners and creators will be contacted by email so that a line of communication is established. Please allow a few days for these to be sent out.

A special thank you to the wonderful Cassie ( @quillwritten ) and Souffle ( @soufflegirl91​ ) , who ran the round robins this year, and to our team captains for their leadership. We couldn’t have run this fest as smoothly as we did without you! THANK YOU!

And thank you to everyone who participated in 007 Fest 2020! We hope to see you again for 007 Fest 2021.  

Now last but not least (and slightly unrelated to the Fest) we'd like to thank Kira_Katashi for helping us make the Slack chat and the fandom a fun and welcoming place. She's joined the fandom recently and took part in the fests as a Civilian so we couldn't award her the bajilion points for all her emojis  that we wanted. But because she's brought so much joy to our fandom and done so much, we've decided to show her our appreciation with a this badge. (Which might come with a surprise later 👀)

#007 fest admin #007 fest 2020 #007 fest winner

[doubleohseven]

007 fest: 31 days of fic recs

— day 3: come a lily, come a lilac by @senatorgana

“Do you make it a general rule to ignore your customers, or am I just special?” The man asks, and gosh, Q’s never seen eyes that blue before. Like a Great Forget-Me-Not, and Q has never before appreciated how aptly named those little flowers are. The man gives him a knowing smile, and Q realizes he’s been staring a hair too long. “Oh - well - Most people just pick what they think is prettiest. It doesn’t require a lot of input from me.” The man walks up to Q, leaning against the counter between them. “Well then, what can I do to get your input?”

#00q #007 fest #teamcivilian #00qedit #007 fest 2020 #mshit #31days

[ksansart]

Q at the beach! Bringing equipment to Bond? (bonus plush Komodo dragon for Bond - a gift, because Q is a considered and caring Quartermaster.)

For 007 fest’s fluff prompt table - Komodo dragon (and for Classic Bond day)

#007 fest 2020 #007 fest #00Q #teambondvillains #2020 art

[stormofsharpthings]

Best-Laid Plans

A Fest 2020 prize fic for @mr-quartermaster

An overworked Q needs a holiday but refuses to take one. James and Alec decide to treat it like a mission. The problem? Well, you know the old saying “To a hammer, everything looks like a nail”? To a couple of double-ohs, kidnapping looks like the ideal solution to a stubborn and cranky quartermaster. What could possibly go wrong?

Read it on AO3 here!

#m16cafe #007 fest 2020 #james bond fanfiction #jaq #00Q00

[castillon02]

Mysterious as a Cat

Q’s face did something complicated when he opened the front door of his flat and saw Bond waiting on the sofa, but ultimately he settled on a rueful smile and a shake of his head. “I should have known,” he said. “Some cats always come home.” 

Actually, Q definitely should have been alerted to Bond’s presence by some device or another. Bond had never been here before, and it was a good thing he was here now, because there appeared to be some security issues. He would have to see to those...sometime. Not now. He had finished his mission; they could spare a little while to relax. 

Next to him, Fish, Q’s gray tabby, uncurled from his nap-circle and jumped down to greet Q with a butt of his head against Q’s calf. A moment later, a loud thump announced Chips’s leap off the bed. (Both cats had their names embroidered proudly on their bright orange collars.) 

Chips trotted in from the bedroom, mroawing his tortoiseshell head off, acting like he was hungry even though Bond had filled the food dish. Bond had psst-psst-pssted him several times, but Chips had ignored him. Chips ignored Fish, too. A one-person cat, apparently.  

Q rattled Chips’s bowl and added a spoonful of wet food. It turned out that he probably fed his cat better than himself, because after that he heated up a frozen package of “dumplings” in the microwave. Bond sat on the sofa to watch the new Star Trek with him while Q devoured his dinner with all the verve of someone who hadn’t eaten in days. 

Ugh. Weren’t millenials supposed to be all about fresh granola and avocados? 

---

“Did you order groceries?” Q asked the next evening, which was a ridiculous question, because there was actual produce on his counters, so of course Bond had. Technology was handy these days; he hadn’t even had to interact with anyone, just pick the package up from the doorstep after it was delivered. 

Bond continued dangling a headphone cord in front of Fish, who obligingly danced after the twitching line until Bond let him pounce on it and kill it dead. 

Chips chirped a greeting at Q, passing by Fish and Bond without so much as a glance. Chips was kind of a dick, Bond decided.  

“I don’t like avocados,” Q told him. 

“I do,” Bond said. He didn’t feel very hungry, but he'd eat one later. 

---

“Is that a fucking houseplant?” Q asked. 

Chips was gnawing on the spider plant contentedly, but in a spectacular show of cat-assery, he hadn’t spared a glance for his benefactor.  

“Chips is a tough nut to crack for someone named after a soggy fried potato,” Bond said. “But he’ll face the double-oh fryer eventually.” 

Q facepalmed, turned around, and took a few deep breaths, his shoulders shaking. “Right,” he said, his voice choked with...suppressed laughter? Pleasure lightened a weight in Bond’s chest that he hadn’t realized was there. He made Q happy.  

“At least Fish loves me,” Bond said, because Fish was curled up in his lap and purring with the steadiness of a machine gun rocking through its clip. 

Q did laugh at that, low in his throat. “Yes,” he said. “Fish definitely loves you.” 

---

After a while, Bond moved from the living room sofa to Q’s bed, theoretically because it was more comfortable, but mostly because it was closer to Q, who refused to have sex with him but was happy to spoon. 

Bond had had plenty of sex on missions. Quality spooning, not so much. It would all be fine except Chips kept trying to burrow into Bond’s pillow like Bond wasn’t even there, and Q finally had to bring a third, identical pillow home after work one day to keep the peace.   

“He’s just special,” Q said with a funny little smile on his face. Was he talking to Bond about Chips, or the opposite? Or both? 

---

“Sure you don’t want to report in?” Q asked him once, his eyes on his tablet, which was perched across Chips’s side because Chips was flopped immoveably in his lap.  

Bond blinked lazily up at him, enjoying the glow of the lamplight across Q’s vibrant face. “If I did, I’d be there,” he said. Fish nipped his jaw for having the temerity to talk while he was sprawled across Bond’s throat. 

“Fair enough,” Q said, and he didn’t ask again.  

---

Bond kept ordering groceries, though for some reason the avocados always turned before he could get to them. He cooked, too, and napped in the sunshine next to Fish, and read books with Fish hiding between his legs and trying to chew on the pages. He comforted Q when he came home with dark circles under his eyes or his shoulders tight with stress, and he celebrated with him when another agent made it home, when a mission success saved lives. Bond liked it here, with Fish and Chips and Q, and he didn’t want to leave. Not yet. 

He was waiting for something, waiting while Q’s hair grew white streaks and Chips’s muzzle grayed, waiting without any particular sense of urgency. He had time, his senses told him. 

He got a good clue what it was he was waiting for when Q and Chips left for the vet one day, Chips unable to move on his own, and Q returned with red-rimmed eyes and a cat crate that swung too lightly in his hand. 

And then Q shut the door behind him, and they heard the telltale thump of Chips leaping off the bed and onto the floor. Chips trotted into the room and greeted Q just as he always had, and then he turned to Bond and brushed his jowls against Bond’s ankle for the first time, chirping inquisitively. 

Q was looking at Chips just as he had looked at Bond on that first day, regret and pleasure warring before selfish relief won the day.

“Ah,” Bond said as a few key details clicked together to form a picture he finally couldn’t ignore. “I suppose Fish died before I did.”  

Q turned to him, licking his lips. “Yes,” he said, and, “You can go if you need to. I’m not trapping you.” 

Bond snorted. “Don’t be stupid,” he said. “Fish would never forgive me. And I’ve been waiting for Chips to notice me for years; I can wait even longer for you to croak so I can escort you to the afterlife.” 

Q smiled. “I thought you hated escort missions.” 

“It’s not a mission,” Bond said, shaking his head. He knelt down and took Q’s hands in his, looking up into his eyes. “It’s where I belong. Where you go, I go, and where you live, I live.” 

Q swallowed. His hands, always so steady, trembled in Bond’s. “You’re not seriously proposing to me ten years after you fucking died, you prick.” 

“It’s a brave new world; I’ll get the rings delivered,” Bond said, and Q pulled him up and into his arms, burying his wet face in Bond’s neck. 

Perhaps the moral thing to do would be to convince Q to surround himself with the living instead of the dead. But if Q was selfish enough to want to keep him, then Bond was selfish enough to want to stay. Wherever they went next, they would go together. 

#007 fest #team00 #castillon writes #00Q #007 fest 2020 #angst prompt: turn #anon prompt: one of Q's cats ignores Bond; Q is amused and Bond is confused

[10kiaoi]

Fluff Prompt table - Orchestrate, Flare, Competence Kink

#00q #007 fest 2020 #james bond #quartermaster #007 #007 fest #teambondvillains #art by op #competence kink? more like tactical kink #which is what this entire post is #:'D #hms 00q