#fusterya

The Hour

Orphan Black

Firefly

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Angel

Criminal Minds

Orange is the New Black

Agents of SHIELD

Sleepy Hollow

The Shield

Handwriting Meme

I was tagged by giraffyness

Name: Elianne Blog Title: Find me beauty in boredom

Crush: my boyfriend + Ben Whishaw & Natalie Dormer

Favourite band: Delta Rae

ALL CAPS: MY WRITING IS NOT SUITED FOR ALL CAPS!

Favourite number: 8 Favourite drink: tea~

*bats at you*

For Fusterya

Art by amarriageoftrueminds (posted here)

~~~~

The flight was long. Too long.

Bond rested his head back against the fuselage, exhaustion trying to take hold against the hyper awareness he couldn't shake. It had already been five hours since he’d pulled Q out of Aleppo, out of the back room of the most vile flat Bond had ever been in — and that was more than saying something.

He still had no idea how the al-Qaeda cell had been able to take Q from his flat — it was probably one of the most well-protected homes in all of England outside of Buckingham Palace — but two days ago Q had been ripped out of his bed in the middle of the night and disappeared. It wasn’t until his tracking device had switched on barely twelve hours ago that MI6 had even known Q had left the country, let alone been taken halfway across the globe.

Bond’s first thought, irrational as it may have been, was how they’d even managed to get Q on a plane.

And now Bond sat back in a seat on an MI6 cargo plane with Q pressed up against him, out cold from a combination of his own exhaustion, trauma and a cocktail of drugs. Bond wrapped his arm around his quartermaster, held him tight, and prayed Q stayed that way for at least another two hours, until they touched down on home soil.

An extraction team had been dispatched to retrieve Q, including two other Double O’s — Alec and 0014 — a small army of field agents, and several paramedics. Every thirty minutes or so a different medic came by, wanting to check Q’s vitals, but the murderous glare Bond gave them made for a hasty retreat. It took a couple hours, but they finally gave it up for a bad job. Bond had rained down hellfire and brimstone when it came to getting Q back. If Q were in distress now, Bond would have no compunction about making sure the med team knew about it.

So the rest of the flight went by in silence, save the soft roar of the engine, while Q stayed asleep, safely wrapped up in Bond’s arms until they could get back to MI6 and plot their revenge.

*turns bright red*

Sure, doll, here you go. But godamercy, I'm pretty sure it's the most scandalous thing I've ever written. Isn't it just.

(Note from PFG: I don't like publishing things that are complimentary to me; makes me squirmy. But this isn't a love letter to me, it's one to fandom, and especially we older fans who so often get the message, "Haven't you grown out of this?" Fusterya puts some things into words that I treasure, the bolded bit especially. Thank you, dear woman, from all of us.)

***

Dear Professorfangirl,

I wanted to write you something from a very long time, but I couldn’t find the right occasion until now… or maybe I become just shy in front of people I admire the most.

I’m a 44 old year “girl”, Italian: I tell you this before everything else so you can forgive my english and figure out the following nonsense. I have a family, an husband and a son, and a job. And I am a fangirl. No, not really. I’m more than a fangirl. I am a woman who has lived her life with a burning desire inside: writing stories, and preferably slash stories. Precisely, writing NOT my original stories (boring!), but about characters that I love in a passionate way, mostly taken from the tv or cinema screen: I love to search their depths and guess their possible futures in my personal, own way. I’ve been doing this from my very youth, without being aware that what I did was going to be called “fanfictions”, one day.

When I realized that - while I was living, working, taking care of my loved ones and growing old - an entire universe called “fandoms” was exploding, and I had the epiphany of my life. It happened with Sherlock, of course. So I became happy in a peculiar way that I’ve missed for all my life, and social networks became my new dimension. I met a lot of wonderful people, and now I have many great friends that are really good friends in real life too, besides the fandom and its dynamics. But then, after some time and some successful (yep!) fanfictions, I wanted something more. I felt that what we were doing there, was MORE important of what it seemed to be. Then I met you. Or … better, I run into your incredible talent through your 00Q fics (yes, I’m a rabid 00Q fan and shipper, of course… in this moment of my life it’s my favorite pairing), and I began to read your blog on Tumblr (when I am able to log in, in this stressful life of mine).

Why am I writing this to you, today? Because some days ago I’ve read your beautiful analysis of the analogy between Sherlock and the two Shakesperean Antonios. And I felt that I HAD to tell you how much you make me happy, because you have raised our job (or hobby, or whatever it is) to an higher level. (Note from PFG: I don't think it's the Shakespeare that raises things, I think it's the love, and the thought, which are everywhere in fandom.) You make me feel proud of my age, and of being a fangirl who reads and (hopefully) writes quality fanfictions. You are right, they are no “fanfictions” : they are a branch of the contemporary literature, they have the right to be called like that, and they should be studied in schools and universities. I’ve run into so many superb writers that have nothing to envy to the most important authors of our current times (you are one of those). Sometimes people like you and me… well, we are teased by those who don’t understand. “What foolish things do you write at your age? Why do you feel so involved and affected by fictional characters? Why do you write porn? Don’t you have enough in you real life?"

Well… maybe at the beginning I felt slightly embittered for this, but now I smile, and my answer is: “I write because it makes me happy. I write for the same reason (no comparison intended, here) that pushes famous and talented people to do it: it makes me complete. I feel good, I feel like I can give something to someone else, and take either. And I do it, happily (and including porn), precisely because I have a life full of everything: love, incitements, inspirations, challenges, people I care for, and yes… even sex. I’m not a sad, middle-aged woman who hides herself in “a world of pure imagination”: I’m alive, I feel alive, and I quiver because of it, and I want to celebrate it through what I write and what I read.”

So, that’s it. I had the urge to tell you that a huge part of this is your credit. You make me feel good, and it’s your "fault". And probably (surely) we will never meet in our real lives, but I’m really glad to have some “fangirling” affinity with you and I’ll go on reading you with a lot of affection and awe. Thank you for what you do, putting on your face and your name for it, with the proud and the awareness which always belong to clever people.

A big hug from your (I’d like to be considered so) friend Claudia (aka Fusterya)

***