sararye:

twelvefairiesflew:

So if Artie goes to New York…

this means we’ll have an adorable filmmaking nerd

a snarky lesbian 

a countertenor gay man 

and a drama queen. 

GLEE YOU ARE OPENING A REALLY GOOD CAN OF WORMS RIGHT NOW DON’T FUCK IT UP.

I NOMINATE BLAINE AS MIMI

“This is Darren Criss from BBC London reminding you that if you like it then you should put a ring on it.”

staceysthings:

sparklyblaine:

THE SONGS FROM WONDER-FUL ARE AVAILABLE IN THE PHILIPPINES ITUNES STORE IN CASE ANYONE WANTS THEM

Signal boost!  Somebody go get them and put them up here!

kryptaria:

snogandagrope:

aine308:

snogandagrope:

hedwig-dordt:

It’s a particularisme feeling, reading the satisfying resolution of 12 chapters worth of ust

On the train

Next to a Nice Old Lady.

If that Nice Old Lady was me, I would have turned to you and said: That was magnificent, wasn’t it?

Reading Mercernary, are we? I, myself, had a proverbial “smoke” after. :-)

I love how we know exactly what fic we are talking about!!

Hmm.

Let’s see what we can do about this.

The fuselage of the plane was thick, and the first class compartment was up front, away from the engines, making it easy for Q to hear the soft sound of typing in the near-perfect darkness. As soon as it started up again, he couldn’t help but tense.

“Shh,” Bond whispered into his nape.

“James,” Q whispered back.

Bond’s iron-tight hold eased up. He gently touched Q’s face, asking, “What’s wrong?”

Though Bond had held the fear mostly at bay so far, it came back as Q rolled over. Irrational as it was, moving made flights worse, as if the shift of Q’s body could have an affect on the plane’s gravity-defying, near-magical ability to fly. “The typing,” he muttered into Bond’s chest. “Distracting.”

Bond pressed a kiss to his temple. Then it was his turn to roll over, and he adjusted their blankets before he reached up to turn on the tiny reading light.

To Q’s surprise, Bond tensed, which made Q’s heart thud hard against his ribs. What was wrong? Q tried to breathe and tried very, very hard not to think of the miles of empty air beneath his reclined seat.

“Excuse me,” Bond said softly, resting against the far armrest to lean into the aisle.

Q’s mind supplied him with an image of their nearest neighbour: a lady in her sixties or seventies, the type of lady who probably had home-baked cookies in her handbag to feed to any stray grandchildren who stopped by unexpectedly. Had she been travelling with one of those grandchildren?

“Could you please stop typing? It’s late.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry, dear,” she answered to Q’s surprise. Had she been typing? “It’s just…”

“Just?” Bond prompted, sounding puzzled.

Q could barely hear the old woman’s response: “I’m writing fanfiction, and I’m afraid you boys inspired me. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have been watching.”

Fanfiction? Fanfiction? What the hell was that?

Bond’s laugh was low and amused and maybe even a little affectionate. “I’m sorry,” he answered just as quietly. “Feel free to continue.”

Then the light was out and Bond was back, pulling Q into his arms. “James,” he whispered tightly as the sound of the typing resumed.

“Shh, Q,” Bond said soothingly, nuzzling against Q’s throat. His hand slipped under Q’s blanket. “It’s all right. I’ve got you.”

“But that woman —”

“It’s fine, Q. Just be inspiring for her.”

Q rose from his spot by the couch, took a deep breath, and stepped over the mess. Barefoot, dressed in yesterday’s jeans and T-shirt, hair a wild mess, and completely unarmed, sure, but he could do this.

Q walked quietly into the hallway, stopping to stand in the doorframe of Bond’s room. He was standing in front of the wardrobe. He was pulling suits off the rack, giving each one a shake, and then hanging it in a garment bag that swung from inside the wardrobe door before he reached for the next.

“James?”

Bond’s shoulders went tense, though he deliberately didn’t look back. “You’re still here.”

“I just need to finish my mission, and then I’ll go.”

Bond hung the suit and took a deep breath before allowing his hands to fall to his sides. “Walk away, Q,” he warned quietly, still facing away. “Don’t make me do this to you.”

“It’s been made clear that you’re more valuable than I am, so it’s a sacrifice they’ll willingly make,” Q said a little sadly. “I’m here to bring you back to England — back to M, back to Alec. 007 status is waiting for you.”