Daniel Craig with Wake Up Dead Man cast members Andrew Scott, Jeremy Renner, Mila Kunis, Cailee Spaeny and Daryl McCormack at the Variety #TIFF Studio on 6 September 2025.
Daryl McCormack, Mila Kunis, Cailee Spaeny, Daniel Craig, Jeremy Renner and Andrew Scott of 'Wake Up Dead Man' are photographed for Los Angeles Times on 6th Sept ‘25 at RBC House in Toronto, Canada. (Photo by Christina House/Los Angeles Times via Contour RA by Getty Images).
wait hey why was daniel craigs hair so scarily blonde in 96 what was that for. his eyebrows????????
OKAY SO IT WAS BECAUSE. he was filming another movie shortly after that. where his hair looks like this
omg look at him. my creature. his eyebrows are also certainly lighter than usual but i also don’t think they’re that dark usually so it was just like a convergence of two extremely blond looks. oh the movie is some voices btw and it’s very cute
1) telecoms and networks : this is my bread and butter IRL job, and I *effing* love it
2) fandom dynamics : I have been in and out of fandom (mostly in) since 2002, and I am autistic enough to detect patterns everywhere… it’s kind of fascinating… if WIKTT means something to you, and the big debacle of « pawn to queen » makes you facepalm, slide in my DM to reminisce about that time 😉
3) gender as a performance
4) the Belgian Constitution and why we have a king of the Belgians and not a king of Belgium
5) the difference between the consent paradigms in kink: SSC, RACK, PRICK, CCC… or kink belonging at pride (remember Brussels is today)
Absolutely no pressure tag, but would love to read @anyawen @ato-the-bean @kmk1701d @tsubame17 @halestrom @sunmontuewrites
Climate Change and the unraveling of systems in the Anthropocene (I'm SUPER fun at parties y'all...)
Ecosystems and the strategic decisions we have to make on where to focus restoration efforts versus preservation versus letting something go... especially in light of 1 above
Humility and recognition that our experiences are NOT universal as traits that foster empathy, acceptance, and resilience. I am a white, cis, het, woman, married to a white, cis, het man. Convincing him of the meaningful differences in our experiences as scientists at uni in the 80s, helped him see the importance of diversity and representation even on just that very small level (because let's face it I'm still hella privileged). And when one of our kids came out as trans, it made us realize that we didn't have to understand it at a bone-deep level to accept it and love them as the same person they always were... just more comfortable and authentic in their skin. IDK if that makes sense, but I can definitely talk about it for an hour.
The re-emergence of white Christian nationalism in the US and how it has to be called out and fought for all of us (even white christians because y'all segregate yourselves and go to war over the STUPIDIST minor differences). The Handmaid's Tale was not a how-to manual...
Fandom, writing (the agonizing bliss), and community outside work and family (i.e., the need to escape reality for fun and mental health).
Happy Pride Brussels! Anyone who needs an ally-mom hug, hit me up.
I'll tag @spiritofcamelot @cicerfics @foxsoulcourt @dixkens @ao3-brihna and anyone else who wants to give it a go.
1. Women in Medieval UK history c. 13th/14th Century, especially their role in proto-medicine and midwifery
2. Hygiene practices and standards for professional face painters.
3. The role played by female-led micro enterprises in the rural economy of Ireland and why the cis male definition of success and kpis for business are outdated and patriarchal.
4. Daniel Craig's movie career
5. The physical and emotional effects of a surgically induced menopause and the failings of the medical profession to prepare and support women through this process
Randomly Tagging a few, but if you see this, you are tagged @bishybarnaby @thestalwartheart @halfbaked00q @laquilasse
Our magnificent LMAS artists have moodboards for the week 1 prompt, modus operandi! The fills are under the cut, and you can also check out the original JPGs and PNGs in the week one Google folder.
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A highly volatile piece of technology had been stolen from an MI6 courier. Suspected involvement with highly trained counterintelligence warrants the presence of 007 and the recently appointed Quartermaster himself.
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Content: Multi-chapters, 18+, mentions of violence and probably smut down the line. :p
A/N: I recently rewatched James Bond again, and the love I have for this ship is beyond unhealthy so here's a treat for fellow 00Q fanatics.
This is set sometime after Skyfall.
In which Bond has the fattest crush ever, honestly.
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←
CHAPTER II.
This was the handiwork of FSB agent Zhenya K., the very same operative responsible for a seismic leak at Interpol some years back, whose monitoring since has been a colossal effort.
Put up against the natural course of time, this leak's harrowing consequences faded in the minds of ever-changing MI6 staff. New terrors manifest every other day, and eventually, the big bad wolf of now fades into the topic of casual chit-chat at the coolers until it resurfaces to give everyone a great big headache.
"CCTV surveillance last recorded her around here." Q looked up briefly to point out a lavish townhouse, then returned to his laptop, his fingers working the keyboard like a manic pianist. When he was certain the earbuds were in working order, he passed them to Bond like spare change, his mind already migrated to something else in his mental checklist.
As Bond watched the young Quartermaster, a piece of information returned to him. Moneypenny had mentioned in passing that this was Q's first time operating in the field. If Q hadn’t been less verbal than usual, Bond would've never guessed. He'd followed the ritual without a hitch since they left the hotel.
It is one thing to remain tethered in an office miles away from danger, and then there is the real threat of physically being in it. To someone without years of exposure to direct violence, even the potential alone could be a heavy load. Bond couldn’t sympathise fully anymore, but he can remember the first kills.
As Bond was putting in his earbud, he rested his other hand gently on the younger man's shoulder, which caused him to stiffen more than he already was. Q looked up for the first time since they entered the car with a puzzled look and was met with something tender.
That ice-capped gaze that made most people scurry and hide was saying something gentle without a sound, and briefly, the men exchanged the faintest of smiles before they returned to reality.
Back to business.
As smoothly as breathing, Bond checked the cartridge, then smoothed the fabric of his dark long sleeves; a brief run of his fingers through his hair as the final count before he opened the door.
"Good luck, 007"
Bond paused for a beat, then nodded at the young man. He always found Q's finishing touch comforting.
Bond enters the house through the back door with a deceptively small and efficient decryption device courtesy of the Q branch. The lights were off, the only sign of life being a faint tune humming from upstairs as if it was luring him in. He couldn't detect a voice amongst the sombre jazz, no footsteps either, only running water and his sturdy heartbeat.
So he followed the melody up to the third floor, positioned, poised to shoot all the while thanking the homeowner's aesthetic choice of carpeted floors for his muffled steps.
When he was finally pressed up behind a wall separating the corridor and the only room with lights switched on, he heard a window being pulled open harshly. Shit.
Bond rounded the corner, narrowly avoiding a bullet, during the brief seconds Bond took to recenter, she slipped through the opening with the case in hand. It seemed something tipped her off, but he didn't have time to analyse his mistake. The hunt was on, and he leapt out of the window onto a neighbouring ledge, an uneven terracotta roof that shook with every rushed step.
The target is remarkably fast considering the weight she's carrying. He is now running at top speed, the adrenaline pulsing in his veins, silencing everything else around him as he steps out of her bullet path one after the other. Bond is now 007; all that he is condensed into one objective, and he’s willing to bet his mortality to win.
After some daring stunts and high-speed home invasions, his lungs were beginning to seriously burn, a harsh reminder of his limits. His bad knee started to creak, pressuring him to end the pursuit.
He managed to close in on her, but just as he reached out, one of the tiles slipped from its place, sending Bond careening off the roof. He clung onto the rain grate seconds before falling off the edge. With that same momentum, he directed the swing up to fire his Walther and luckily managed to put a hole right in the middle of her right leg, subduing her.
He found her clinging to the edge with one hand, the other gripping the handle of the case so tightly he could tell by the look in her eyes she was fighting whether to protect the case or her own life. At her creative string of profanities, Bond only looked on completely vacant, with a hand outstretched, beckoning for the case.
He continued to watch her inner turmoil play out on her features, making no move to ease her situation.
"The case." He waited and waited; he had no reason to press her as it seemed like she was edging towards an answer, but as she lifted the case to him, the sound of a gunshot broke the air, iron and wetness everywhere as Bond fell back against the roof. He could feel the wetness sprayed across his face.
Someone shot her off the edge, and along with her body, the case fell to the ground with a gnarly sound upon impact.
"Fuck!"
Q, who'd remained silent over the comms since Bond entered the house, finally spoke.
"007, it seems we've got company-"
"Yes, I noticed Q." Bond bit back harshly as he picked himself up, eyes locked on the motorbike that appeared from nowhere to retrieve the case from the former target's lifeless clutch before speeding off.
"Are you seeing this?"
"Yes, I'm tracking him now, he's headed towards a highway leading out of the city he must be headed towards the airstrip."
Q's voice remained still despite Bond's gnashing. With new intel, Bond rushed down the narrow alley and not so politely annexed a retro-looking bike from a teenage boy preoccupied with a group of girls who only gaped wordlessly in Bond’s direction as he sped off.
For the next tense minutes, Q expertly relayed shortcuts after another, which required sheer luck and being James Bond himself to execute. (This man's pension for borderline suicidal athleticism will never cease to amaze.) Finally, he managed to deliver Bond right behind the shooter, and now it's the battle of motor strength.
"007, get him, if you miss him at the next turn we might lose him."
"Very helpful, Q. Don't suppose you've got magic words to make this bloody thing go faster than a geriatric donkey." Bond caught a sigh from Q.
"That's not very nice"
"Well, do you?"
Bond somehow jokes in his bout of adrenaline madness, as he does, Bond dodges a collision that sends a car flying in a pirouette mid-air as they speed closer and closer towards a line of cement barricade that would effectively cut him and the target into separate tunnels.
"007, you grab that case and I'll do more than recite magic spells." Q barks in an attempt to alleviate the pressure in his chest, which means that, unlike his usually filtered self, the mildly suggestive nature of his outburst was lost on him until it was too late.
Bond despite being under the kind of pressure that would send any normal man into shock honest to god smirked and not that Q could see his face but somehow he was more than sure the agent was absolutely mocking him in that silence.
"Is that a promise?" Bond said this as he sped the poor bike to its maximum, then leapt off onto an adjacent car that was steadily speeding to make the tunnel just behind the target.
He put a bullet into the shooter's hind wheel, sending the bike sliding off the side of the road mere seconds before the shooter made the tunnel. Bond then jumped off, landing quite roughly on his bad shoulder, but was too hopped up on adrenaline to notice.
He found the target in a gruesome position, confirming he did not survive the crash.
"007 status report"
"Target eliminated, I've got the case"
"Is it damaged?"
"No"
"Good, excellent, well done, 007. We are on our way to you now."
════════════════════════════════════════════
They were driven outside of the city to a barren valley with no sign of civilisation. It was all rocky mounds with patches of green here and there, it looked apocalyptic and perhaps that's fitting for what they’re about to do.
The two men hurried to flat ground, Bond and Q dropped their respective rucksacks to the dirt and then swiftly began unpacking the items into separate groups.
Q made as many deductions as he could manage about the contents of the case and brought several sets of bomb diffusing kits tailored to various types of explosives. A separate set should it be a biological component and several decryption tools of his own making.
Beside Q is a vigilant James Bond. As the quartermaster got busy organising tools for the operation, he remained on his feet with a rifle sturdy in his hands. The clearing leaves them vulnerable, but it was the closest location to extract the contents without compromising on time.
Bond finally crouched when he could sense no threat but his eyes continued to sweep along the mounds. The extraction process frankly makes him nervous; the not being able to dictate the process is something he'll always have a hard time trusting. Q had never failed him throughout the few times they'd worked together, and he is undoubtedly one of the brightest minds currently living, but the threat of what's inside chafed at him regardless.
When Bond peered behind him, Q was finally starting the process. In the same way, he easily became the young man behind the moniker, Q switched on his genius to tackle the threat. His focus is singular, effectively erasing just about everything around him save for the screen embedded in the case.
Q reached for a box containing a cubic machine with several wires attached and began to plug it into the exposed sockets on the case. The screen in the case blinks to life displaying complex web pixels to which Q starts typing long numeral sequences attempting to untangle the abstract lock.
"Pandora, do be careful with that." Bond eager to assess the threat tried to draw out something from Q but his effort when wholly ignored.
Q’s rapid punching of numbers continued until eventually the screen lifted from its mechanism exposing a screwed lid, what Bond assumed is housing the chip powering the case’s elaborate lock mechanism. Q started to unscrew the impossibly tiny screws but as he did a beeping sound announced itself, this made the two men pale.
"Should I be saying my final words?" Bond joked again, but his face did not match the tone.
“If my little one here serves its purpose you might not have to" Bond frowned at this, noting the use of ‘might’
"Q, Is that you saying you're not sure?"
"Not unsure, just calibrating, the lock mechanism on this case is not something I’m familiar with" Too candid. Q delivered this in a cold, analytical, and uncaring tone, Bond’s inquiry more a nuisance than anything he could be bothered to explain in the face of this deadly puzzle.
"That's unsure" Q was determined to ignore this, but when Bond attempted to reach for his hand, Q swatted him away.
"Oh, for Christ's sake! No, Bond, calibrating means I'm still figuring the bloody thing out. Would you like to die arguing semantics, or would you like to not be vaporised? Let me do my fucking job!”
Loud and clear. Bond squinted at him, and it's remarkably communicative, not to casual acquaintances but to those who've been around him enough to see more than a smirk or his resting poker face. Experts would conclude: "You little shit"
"Yes, I much prefer the silent brooding." Despite the alarming beeps, the cubic toy, Q’s trump card, seemed to have finished its battle with the ominous pixels. It announced its task done with a beep and Q with clinical precision, unscrewed the lid to reveal sets upon sets of tiny wires connected to the central chip.
“Bond, I need your help” Bond assumed that the lack of beeping meant they were in the clear, but that was just the first layer because a countdown had started on the screen once again.
“Bond”, Q repeated. The agent quickly moved to the opposite end of the case, grabbing the equipment laid out and quickly familiarising them with his grip.
His heart rate felt prominent before, but now it’s hurling itself against his ribcage, fighting its way out of his chest. He could feel the wetness at the back of his shirt, and Q looked no less dishevelled.
"Alright, hold onto this wire", Bond complies, willing himself to do some meditative breathing only to make sure he is still in fact breathing. It won't do if his hands begin to shake.
"And?"
"Shut up, I'm thinking" Q was angling his wrist in different directions like he was choreographing the approach.
"This one here, Bond", Q points at one of the blue wires, and Bond cuts it swiftly, only for it to backfire. The two cocked their heads to the timer only to see it cut by half. They now have exactly 10 seconds to disable the bomb.
"Why is the timer down by half!" Bond roared.
"Fuck.." Q genuinely seemed stressed, and that was one of the most terrifying things to witness. His life is put completely at the Quartermaster’s will, and he’s being all too revealing.
"Which one do I cut!"
"...."
"Q!"
"Here the red one on three" The men's focus now clung to one another, They breathed in sequence 1...2...3...both wires were snipped, disabling the counter, and the screen that displayed their impending doom dimmed into nothing.
There were successions of clacking sounds, and then the contents were revealed to them. Three vials sit neatly in their casing, inside which is a clear liquid that seems harmless if not for the several layers of clear casing and a series of interlocking lids. Identification will have to be done at the headquarters' secure labs.
Q hurried to the task, reassembling the case back to its initial state, effectively lifting the thick sense of doom permeating between them both.
A gust of wind exited Q as he put his tongs down into the kit box, and Bond threw them away as if they were burning his hands. They were both so taken by the sheer relief of not being exploded to pieces that the contents of that case no longer mattered.
They were both panting, staring at one another wildly as their chemicals hijacked their central control. Nothing was processing, no signals were going in or out, only sensations.
If you asked Q, he would not be able to describe what happened in the seconds leading up to this. Bond seemed to lunge at him in slow motion with a look on his face like he was going to rip him in half, but it wasn't pain Q felt, no, he didn't get punched across the face for his life-threatening error.
He's now at this moment being kissed by James fucking Bond.
His eyes fluttered shut out of instinct and shock. He was stone still, and only after long seconds later did he notice Bond’s lips gliding against his own, and he was kissing him back without realising it.
It was a tangled mess, like all the stress translated into a heated momentum. Finally, shaking hands pushed at James’s chest, and Q stared at him wide-eyed, lips beet red, and his glasses lopsided.
"Bond wh-"
"Sorry- I" He looked no less puzzled, which is bizarre on Bond's usually unreadable face. Q could see Bond bare for a brief second before they went cold again. The agent turned away, suddenly packing up the tools scattered around them with a very telling efficiency.
As Bond ferociously packed, Q lagged slightly behind, starting on the kit closest to him, unable to process the situation. All things considered, Bond's intentions were not concealed despite the surprise; what bothered Q was that he wanted more. So far, he'd been denying any attraction to the man, deciding it's a surface-level appreciation considering the agent's appeal and, well, his own lack of sex life.
Do I want him?
Before Q could reach out to him, the agent got up from his spot on the ground, along with two rucksacks slung on one shoulder to avoid the one he landed on. He staggered a little as he rose and began to limp in the direction of the van without a single word.
The ride back to the hotel was in uncomfortable silence. Neither one of the men looked at the other as they quietly processed the events. This silence extended to their return flight that same evening, without so much as a look shared between the two men as they parted ways after a dispatch team retrieved the case from them at the airport.
═══════════════════════════════════════════
“Circe? That better not be you in the office!” Hearing no yowls in response to his call, Q sagged with the kind of exhaustion often seen on new mothers. The little witch in question had recently blossomed into an even more rambunctious teen, worse than she was as a kitten. Q is normally understanding to a fault, often spoiling Circe and Sybill the elder, but not today.
He’d had a particularly bad sleep, the source being the INCIDENT gnawing at him since it happened until now. So, there will be retribution for mugs knocked off tables this fine Saturday evening. And by retribution, he just means a particularly dirty stare at best.
He stared emptily at a piping hot tea in his hand and decided against thwarting Circe’s onslaught in his home office and made for the sofa where Sybilla, his eldest feline daughter, was curled up with a look of pure hatred at her father. “Your sister, your turn today, Sibi, now scoot.” That she did, but more so to get away from him rather than tend to her sisterly duties.
Q immediately fished for the remote somehow crammed beneath the slit in the sofa and flicked through the selections determined to settle on something as quickly as possible so he could ignore the gnawing bitterness in his chest.
Just when he was narrowing down on a sappy period drama, the doorbell sounded. Great. He reached for his phone and tapped on the surveillance app that connects all the cameras in and around his flat, ready to yell at a delivery man who did not deserve his temperament, but-
“Q, my darling!” Eve. Of course, it's Eve. He hesitated, wondering if he’d rather pretend to be asleep. In some way, he did expect this visit. The woman seems to have some mystical abilities, he’s concluded, despite being a firm man of science. The way she always seems to know exactly what to say or when to manifest cannot be explained by excellent spy craft and audacity alone.
This was his own doing, despite protocol which demands his presence at MI6 the minute he lands, he decided to take one out of Bond’s books and ignored his debrief meeting. He was too tired and too confused to pretend otherwise. So, seeing as the case got delivered safely, he dragged what was left of himself back into his flat and crashed face-first into deep sleep.
This, of course, tipped off his best friend, who no doubt waited very patiently for the past week to hear how it all went.
“Q I know you’re awake, If you pretend to be asleep and ignore me I will tell Mrs Copeland you’re feeling under the weather” This part she whispered into the microphone (hidden behind a wooden panel she should have no idea is there), Despite the volume, the effect is instantaneous Q is more than anything terrified to catch the lovely Mrs Copeland’s attention again.
There were several incidents he would very much not like repeated; his elderly neighbour simply would not leave him alone, and the minute Eve learned of this ammunition, she’d been exercising it too often for his liking.
Q groaned up at the ceiling and stomped his way to the door, and when he swung it open, there she was, dressed head to toe like she’d just walked off a runway. Q, however, is frowning at her behind his glasses that haven’t been wiped; he’s drowning in a large T-shirt that’s not his own, no doubt left by one of his one-night stands some century ago; oh, and his hair could rival Medusa’s.
“You look-” Eve did her best to look encouraging but that was the thing with Eve, despite her recent history as a field agent she would only pull up that mask when it was strictly business. Sometimes Q wished she’d extend the courtesy to their relationship, the woman is unrelentingly honest even if she pads them up nicely a lot of the time.
“Like I’ve been run over, yes, I know, are you coming in or not?”
“Alright, settle down this is supposed to be a lovely house call” She adjusts the shopping bags in her arms and makes her way inside sparing sickeningly sweet hellos to Q’s littlings that’ve come to the door.
“I heard the case made it back to the labs safe, no one got hurt, why are you…this-” She waved her hand at Q’s entirety as she settled the bag down on the table, and he had to stifle a bitter laugh.
“Did you come bearing gifts?”
Of course, she did bring something; she always did. Eve peeled away the shopping bags to reveal two bottles of his favourite Merlot, and that managed to brighten him up a bit. So they settled into his sofa, the TV show softly murmuring away as the two started with something rudimentary at first, office happenings he missed that week and eventually after the fourth glass they revisited the topic.
“You know, half the women on the top floor wanted to swap bodies with you”
“Why on earth would they want to be an ache-riddled scarecrow?” Q mused as he let himself sink further into the back cushion enough to almost fold his chin back into his chest, the wine glass atop the flat expanse of his chest.
“I imagine the idea of getting to be in the same room as Bond for a week sounds like heaven to them” Eve turned to him with a knowing look that said: Bliss to those who've never had the pleasure, the man is actually a menace even if he is undeniably sexy.
“It’s hardly h- wait, how did they know we shared a room?!” Q's voice spiked, animated by the alcohol.
“One of your minions got cornered”, she smirked.
“Fucking Brian”
“Yeah- fucking Brian” Eve grinned in a suspiciously fond way, he’ll have to pry that out of her later.
“Exactly how much did ‘fucking Brian’ let slip” Q downed the remaining wine in his glass then pushed himself upright aiming for the opened bottle his eyes still glued on her determined to get to the bottom of this.
“He might’ve gotten threatened into snooping on you on the first night” Q crinkled his nose initially unfazed, but then it dawned on him.
“Oh-”
“So what was that late-night riverside stroll about, Q?”
“It’s not what you think it is” That sounded more believable in his head.
“Says every single person who’s about to lie” Eve is suddenly closer now, like she wasn't going to let the truth escape. Later, he will blame the wine, but Q relented.
“Listen, alright, yes, we did go for a walk. They were pulling the records, and we couldn’t work till then, and you know Bond being well, Bond”
“He wanted a drink”
“Yes, he wanted a drink"
“So you two went for a ‘walk’ and drinks," she squints.
“....” Oh, Eve, you bloody witch.
“It’s sounding a little like a date, sweetheart”
“I could go for a walk and drinks with you, I don’t know why you’re making this a thing”, he waved dismissively, suddenly interested in his very mundane glass.
“Yeah- well, I don’t happen to be someone you eat up with your eyes every time he appears” At this, Q frowned, defensive.
“That's silly, I don’t do that”
“You absolutely do”
“You’re impossible, you know that?”
“Think you’d be bored of me otherwise” They stared at one another challengingly but then they broke into a short fit of laughter at that sweet admission but no this did not erase the secret he's hiding. This is only an intermission.
After a knowing silence, Q cleared his throat.
“Oh fuck it-” He took a large gulp of the wine.
“....”
“Bond kissed me”
“WHAT!” He only nodded quietly at her explosive reaction.
“Are you joking?” He shook his head.
“Ok, so you’re not joking, how?”
“I don’t know, adrenaline?"
“I did not expect a nuke when I came through the door, this is too good”
“I’m glad this is amusing to you?"
"What is this reaction? This is exciting and sexy. Why do you look disturbed?" Eve is so close to him that their laps are almost stacked.
"I don't know, he looked disturbed by it. I know he kissed me, but why was that his reaction?"
Eve's head tilted, not following.
"He looked shocked and didn't speak to me the rest of the way back. I know rejection when I see it, but this is something else?"
"Alright, we're going on a mission"
"What- to unravel what that was?"
"Yes, I refuse to let this gnaw at you until you get over it"
"Oh—I mean," Q's glassy gaze trailed off into the distance. Eve is exactly right. He's not insecure about most things, but he is very much human, and rejection of him rather than his work often lingers way longer than it should.
He felt the warmth of Eve's hand atop his own, and when he turned to her, she already had an air about her like she was ready to hunt, and that was disturbingly comforting.
"Shall we open that third bottle?" Q asked, despite himself.
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