We're gonna run out of cake at this rate

I've been watching the reports and reading the news all day, fairly speechless with disbelief. Some friends were meant to fly out to London this morning on holiday; they've postponed it, and this morning was hellish trying to sort out flight re-bookings and stuff with them. I just hope all my friends in the UK are safe! You guys, you're constantly in my thoughts. It's just a nightmare -- but it's been brewing for some time, I feel. It's a society-wide breakdown that hasn't just happened, out of nowhere -- there have been indications of something like this coming along. Still, doesn't mean it's not a complete and utter shock. Live news updates here: BBC News Live: UK Riots. ETA: I am also finding this hugely educational: tyrell has compiled quotes from the UK airways and sites from the past three days. Makes for one hell of an interesting read.

In other news, my plans to get a life have yet again been thwarted. You know how I was hoping to move to Sofia and get a new job and stuff? Yeah, not happening any time soon. That colleague I was filling in for when I should have been going away -- yeah. Turns out she has terminal lung cancer. They give her 5 months at most. It's... kind of a shock. So I'm basically taking over her job, and my other colleague has just all of a sudden started acting really odd, like the boss is now obligated to tell her everything about any and all developments he's planning, like it's her right to know -- which, okay, boss, you know? It's your job, you're supposed to adjust to it when it's not an unreasonable request -- and it isn't, it's logical and it'll help develop the hospital beautifully. So it's looking like she's going to quit, too, so I'm going to have to train up two new people, and another sometime later. Which means is going to be a long and hard few months. I'm kind of in a bit of a daze right now, with all this stuff going on everywhere.

On a positive note -- we have booked our family holiday! \0/ We're going to a small family hotel near Kavala, Greece: me, my parents, my sister, and baby Nicky. Six whole days away, with nothing but sun, sea, sand -- OH GOD, YES PLEASE. I am taking my laptop, natch, and I'm kind of hoping to get a new phone by then, too, that's internet-enabled (delicatale, I'm looking at you and grinning ;D). At least I hope I will, maybe for my birthday? I'm going to be spending my 30th birthday with my closest family. Kind of everything I was hoping for, at this stage. I just hope it won't all get fucked by said colleague. We've booked the hotel, which is a three-hour drive from where I live, so YOU KNOW, NICE AND ACCESSIBLE. I really, REALLY hope I get to go. And so I'm hoping to be able to post by H50 Big Bang on 20th Aug instead of 27th, since we leave on 26th. Just waiting on my artist now.

Okay, enough moaning. I now direct you to these amazing X-Men illustrations by loobeeinthesky, which, okay, I was staring at Erik all morning. <3

In that vein, I can now announce that I have started writing a sequel for First Impressions. When I emailed her to freak out at her, zolac_no_miko laughed and laughed and laughed at me. :DDD I CAN'T HELP IT WHEN MY NEED FOR REGENCY MARRIAGE/DOMESTIC FLUFF TAKES OVER. >.>;;

In conclusion: happy birthday, somehowunbroken!! I hope you had a lovely day! <3

IT IS DONE.

66 pages and just over 17,000 words later, I have finished my dissertation. I wanted to throw up for a bit there, I was so wound up. But I can breathe again now that I've laid my paws on some booze and have eaten ALL THE THINGS. I look it over tomorrow, then I print it, get it bound, burnt to a CD, and I submit it on Wednesday.

AND THEN I SPEND THE REST OF TOMORROW PROCRASTINATING LIKE A BOSS. I will be watching the H50 finale, and then writing my black little heart out. I have so many things to write, that I actually want to write, it's brilliant!

One other reason, though, that makes me want to throw up is that, like I moaned to andrealyn an hour ago, I'm pretty sure I'm going to get cut out of the H50 Big Bang. Which would be fair, you know, I didn't make the 20K wordcount, not by a long shot -- together with this morning's procrastination, it's just 200 words off 10K. It's making me sick, because I am totally in love with that story, but everything that's happened -- my nephew, help_japan, dissertation -- I just haven't had the time I've wanted to devote to it. It's making me so disappointed in myself.

I mean, I'm not gonna let it go. I am totally going to finish it, no matter whether I'm allowed to proceed or not. It's clamouring to be written in my head, and now that I CAN give it my undivided attention, it's going to pour or punch its way out of me, one way or another.

To be honest, I hadn't realised just how stressed I was making myself thinking about it until this morning. sheafrotherdon has put up this gorgeous story that I loved, but there was a point in it where, ngl, I just burst into tears and sobbed for like ten minutes straight. ( Discussion of major character death under cut. I know I would like to be warned if I stumbled across this )

Yeah, weird, tell me about it. Anyway, I'm off to write Steve/Danny IN LOVE, ALWAYS IN LOVE, and maybe squeeze in watching the new Who ep somewhere, since people keep telling me it's the most awesome thing since ice cream. THE POINT IS, I CAN.

FOR YOUR TIME (shamelessly nabbed off delicatale):



ETA: NNNNNNNNNNGH, ARMS.

Tonight I heard some wonderful news. It was that a Bulgarian gardener (rather thin on the ground, all things considered) has won the right to exhibit at the Hampton Court Palace Flower Show. Which is brilliant, and I'm so happy, and well done that man. That's not the strange part. The strange part was as follows. Upon hearing said wonderful news, I spontaneously burst into tears.

I've been thinking about England, and Oxford, rather a lot today, what with irisbleufic's wonderful news, and -- well, apparently I'm not as okay with leaving my life there behind as I thought I was. I was a little overwhelmed by the rather violent reaction, and even tidying up the washing couldn't get me out of my funk. (For those not in the know, I am a stress tidier/cleaner/ironer/baker).

So you know what had to happen, right? The only thing to cheer me up a bit? Filthy, filthy porn. It was the only way.

Besides, I was quite sick of tinkering with this on Google Docs; I've been working on it for months already. Strangely, it's the first story that I've written this way -- in segments here and there. Usually it has to flow naturally, A then B then C in order, but here it was all over the place, and then I was piecing parts together. I reckon that's why it's taken me so damn long to get it done, and edited, and to a stage that I actually like what I've written.

You guys, this is quite, quite shameless. It's been ages since I've written so. Much. Smut. In one story. I'm almost a little embarrassed to post it -- but it's utter self-indulgence, and kink indulgence, and I just have to get it out there already. DON'T JUDGE ME. At least, not too harshly! :D


Title: Leave a Trail
Word count: ~5,300
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: rimming, object penetration, really explicit sex, a serious tattoo kink, mild angst, possessive!Sherlock and happy-with-it!John
Disclaimer: Sherlock and John in this incarnation belong to The Moff, Gatiss and the BBC, as well as to ACD.
Summary: John has a present for Sherlock; Sherlock definitely approves.
Notes: This started life as a small Boxing Day PWP aiming to showcase my rather huge tattoo kink -- but as most of you may know, I just CAN'T write PWPs, so a fair amount of plot snuck its way in. There are so many fab pieces out there on the subject of tattoos, and what they mean, and their psychological impact; I first started thinking about it after reading thinkpink20's version (where it's Sherlock who gets the tattoo), and then wordstrings' latest story came out, and I just had to sit down and start writing. There's a lot of personal stuff in this story, in that it closely reflects my views on the whole tattooing lark. Anyway, onto the fic! Title comes from the following quote: Do not go where the path may lead. Go instead where there is no path and leave a trail, by Ralph Waldo Emerson, because I rather think it says a lot about Sherlock and John and what they mean to each other. For tattoo_kink, who requested just such a story the other day for Make Me A Monday and gave me the much-needed kick up the arse to finally get this finished.


( Leave a Trail )