Fic and things

Today I am wearing a chalk-coloured sheer silk blouse, with tucks down the front and loose tie (not in a bow), a black wool-mix herringbone weave skirt, and off-white with brown thread decoration lowish-heeled shoes with strap. I think it would fit quite well at Pym’s Advertising Agency in the early 1930s.

Yesterday I finished reading a Place of Greater Safety after several months and various interruptions. I was very impressed, but I think I would have got more out of it at the beginning, which took me a while to get into, if I could remember anything about the French Revolution, which I have not studied since Middle School. This is why National Curriculums are sometimes a good thing – the Poor Laws three times at High School, but not the French Revolution?

From very_improbable and daegaer
When you see this, post a little weensy excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.

This is not quite my problem. I have inspiration; it’s application that I lack. My habit of jotting things down on bit of paper until the work of assemblage at the computer also means it’s a bit tricky to find something from a WIP that I think may make it into a final piece in that form. I don’t guarantee that these will turn up exactly as here on a future date.

( Allo Allo )

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( Potter-fic )

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( Wimsey-fic )

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( Troy/Alleyn )

From the department of the author didn’t know better, I recently stumbled across a piece of Brideshead Revisited slash (a click I shall not make again), in which the protagonists’ passion is unsubdued by their falling into a bramble thicket. Much as Hogwarts romances consummated on Astronomy Tower may be assumed to have been written by those who have never spent much time on top of a high, open tower in the Highlands of Scotland at midnight in February, this was clearly an author who had never wondered on an Autumn morning whether her tetanus vaccination was up-to-date. Not if her description of Charles and Sebastian continuing their mad, passionate kissing, the scratch of “tiny thorns” “swiftly subdued by olfactory pleasure”, is anything to go by. Not to mention that the grip of thorns on tweed should be such they have difficulty moving. She got Sebastian’s hesitation before eating a berry right, though I fear she was going for poetic effect rather than the usual reason of checking for maggots. I like blackberries, but picking them involves jeans, a leather jacket, and substantial gardening gloves.

And finally, since we seen to be into barking fandom at the moment, an mpreg fic that shows what happens when Men fall pregnant: Daddy’s Little Conqueror, in which Alexander comes up with a novel solution for his lack of a true-born Macedonian heir. I wouldn’t go quite so far as to say this is actually a rec, but it is certainly one of a kind.

“He’s adorable, Alexandros,” said Leonnatus. “He’s got your hair and your strong grip—and his mother’s lovely thighs.”