"And the Joys We Share as We Tarry There..."

Issue: I think I could start to write fic with a slightly higher rating. That is to say, most of my slash is v. fluffy and G-ish right now, but I think if I wanted to, I could do more with it.

Difficulty: Mum beta-reads all my fic. More than that, she expects to read my fic, because I've been showing it to her for ages. I have, I confess, hidden certain fics from her (such as the Courfeyrac/Combeferre/Feuilly menage a trois *g*) in the past, but she has a slightly unpleasant way of finding things I'd rather she didn't ("Synonyms"). And I would have to start actually attacking other people for beta-reading, which I am loath to do.

What shall I do?

I suppose in the long run there's nothing wrong with G-ish slash, but Other People would perhaps beg to differ, and I am sometimes frustrated at my limits, due to their being largely because of my worry over bothering Mum (sparklychibi will, perhaps, understand this).

Hm.

"Goodness Knows The Wicked's Lives Are Lonely..."

Damn. We went out for lunch, and now I so cannot eat anything for the rest of the day.

Anyway, am working on rather an ambitious project which I hope to have done by to-night. Cannot wait to show you all. *squee*

I am bothered by license plates; entranced by curtains; enamoured of coffee shops; afraid of glass displays; fond of pastels; and frightened by lights on scanners and copiers. To-day was the Flower Show, and it was rather awfully nice, even if most of the arrangements were hideous.

I went into a big store for the first time in over a year, and was duly traumatised and scarred by clothes I shall never be able to wear and jewellery I shall never be able to afford. Looked for a tam, so I could be Gideon Spilett. Failed. Found, however, a lovely Harriet Vane hat and a Fix cap and a hat that would have made a splendid Mina Harker hat, saving that it was green instead of black.

Could not find gloves or a pocket handkerchief, however. Am afraid that being Henry Jekyll/Henry Clerval for Hallowe'en may be another rather ambitious project.

We are completely out of water, and have to buy it in big jugs. It bothers me. For some reason, I feel as though it's not as clean.

I shall never be able to return The Mysterious Island to the library. I love it too much.

Waen has a split kneecap. They found out to-day. It's in two different pieces, and a condition that one in a thousand (or so) people have. But she says it's all right, because it's not something that'll stop her playing soccer or anything. So I suppose that's fine, then.

She loved her Pencroff/Ayrton fic. She said the Bob Harvey/Ayrton subtext, however, was one of the most disturbing subtexts she'd ever heard. Rather funny, I suppose, because I didn't intend to put it in as much as she saw it.

But I must finish my little ambitious project. The first one. *rambles off*

"None Other Has Ever Known..."

Here is my grand, ambitious project:

Mysterious Island pictures. :) Yes. Because I am a geek like whoa. But I don't want to lose them ever, and I'd rather pretend I have a safe place to put them; at least for a while. So here they are, ladies and germs: select illustrations from Jules Verne's L'Ile Mysterieuse. (Dial-up connections, beware.)

Part I: Castaways From the Sky

( Pencroff and Cyrus, at the beginning. They will never look like this again, anywhere in the book. )

( Gideon. /He/ will never wear this hat again. Also, he is angsting. *pets him* )

( Pencroff, trying to light a fire. You know it's him because you can see his hat. )

( Harbert, Gideon, and Cyrus. Observe that Harbert is a midget. Also, am rather concerned over what Pencroff and Neb are doing in the background. )

( Pencroff and Neb, 'preparing' the thingummy. Pencroff does not look like himself, but his hat is on the wall. )

( This picture is in here to display the Neb-ness of Neb. The kerchief, the earrings, the noodle-like pose--this is Neb. )

Part II: The Outcast

( This is the most adorable picture of Pencroff ever, even if Cyrus is completely and scarily out of proportion. )

( Pencroff, running out in the storm to protect his beloved wheatfield. *loves on picture forever* )

( Joop and Top. This is my OTP. Except, you know, not. )

( Ayrton. This picture still makes me giggle madly. The bulging muscles are completely unnecessary, truly. )

( The first Ben Gun picture. In actuality, Cyrus Giving Ayrton His Hand. Am still trying to figure out what in hell Pencroff thinks he's doing. )

( Joop is the world's most adorable quadrumane. Also, Harbert is short. )

( Harbert the Pale Lady. Still a midget; but rather endearing picture. )

Part III: The Secret of the Island

( ^________^ The picture off of which 'Casu et Certum' is based. Note Bob Harvey's head floating to one side. )

( Best picture of Ayrton in the book (he being to the far left), as well as one of the best pictures of Neb (to the far right). Cyrus still short. Harbert completely out of proportion. )

( The picture that forever sealed Harbert's doom. A pale lady indeed, but an undeniably squee-worthy one. )

( Cyrus Smith, looking oddly like Gideon Spilett. Once again, must call into question what in hell is going on in the background. )

( The second Ben Gun picture. However, Pencroff/Ayrton OTP!!1!!!!1eleven! )

( Captain Nemo. I love this picture far too much, and am aware of it. However, the luxurious divan forever commands my abject devotion. )

( Am sure this picture makes Nemo fume. Harbert, Cyrus, and Gideon look respectfully at him. Ayrton, Pencroff, and Neb look with eerily zombie-ish facial expressions at the jewel box. The curse of money, &c &c. )

There. Isn't it all too, too squee? ^_____________^

Want very much to write a Harbert fic from when he is All Growed Up and looking back on things. Want to write about him and Ayrton, and his father before Pencroff, and possibly Nemo too, because the bit where he kissed Nemo's hand was one of the loveliest scenes in the entire book (not slashily, either! Nemo/Aronnax forever! *waves flag*).

"Goodness Knows, the Wicked Die Alone..."

>_> Waen is omg spiting me. She has left lovely honey and oat bars open on the desk down here, an I can smell them, and I can see them, and I am dying to eat them gaaaaaaaaah.

'Tany rate, here is your Prouvaire/Feuilly, snowyofthenight. And it is angsty. And I quote Craig Raine far too much. But it is done, and I actually rather like it, so. ^_^

Also, I promise--to the first five people who comment--a three-hundred-word ficlet of the pairing, genre, or fandom of their choice if they know which delightful piece of literature I stole the names of Feuilly's siblings from.

( Avis Cum Multis Alis )