who are you, defenders of the universe?

feli and marat on the same court right now and i can't find a stream anywhere. oh, life.

went out for a disaster of a run earlier. my decisions were all bad ones - i wore tights when i shouldn't have, i didn't take water when i should have, i went to the park like it wouldn't be super busy on a sunny bank holiday afternoon and lots of annoying wee boys shouted abuse about parts of my body i would have thought well covered up by my enormous t-shirt. after a couple of miles i gave up and came home. today notwithstanding, i'm thinking pretty seriously of signing up for a half-marathon at the end of the summer. i ran a 10k a couple of weeks ago so i'm already effectively in training, but it's a big time commitment and the friend i've trained with in the past isn't running any more, i suspect because she's pregnant, which admittedly would make a half-marathon in september a bit of a challenge. what do you reckon, running flisters? anyone else have summer running targets?

while i'm here, amazon rank. clowns.

Title: I'd do anything to catch you falling
Pairing: Rafael NadalFeliciano Lopez (RPS)
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2,500 approx.
Author's notes:so morebliss was spamming louiselux and i with pictures of feli (life is tough) when we started to wonder what exactly might have been the backstory to this one:

thanks also to lou for the speedy and excellent beta which i demanded in a very self-entitled manner earlier this evening.

( Rafa's arm was heavy and familiar around his neck and he could smell Rafa's shampoo, something citrusy and fresh. His fingertips drew little patterns on Rafa's back, out of the sight of the camera lens. )

do you ever fall off the lj horse a bit? work has been a stress-fest for the past few weeks and even when i have had the chance to check the flist, i haven't been commenting. now i'm at the stage where i am filled with crippling social anxiety about leaving a comment - what would i say? i would sound stupid omg! everyone will point and laugh and then i'll realise my skirt is tucked into my knickers! i'll be the village idiot of all lj-land! the irony, of course, is that 95% of my usual lj comments are at best inane and at worst incomprehensible. what am i worrying about? basically what i am saying is that i need to get back on the horse, flist. *foot firmly in stirrup*

work has been at that stage of horror where i haven't even been able to talk about it, or about anything, really. it has been one of those times where fandom is a total fucking godsend. when tennis is on, i can open my gchat box and interact chiefly through that odd and constantly evolving fandom language of squee, in-jokes, gravity-defying tangents and graphic descriptions of sex acts, and no-one asks ridiculous, unanswerable questions like "how was your day?" or "how did work go?" i am 100% serious when i say it has been a lifeline, and i know i am hardly the first person in fandom to express an opinion along those lines, but still. these past few weeks have reminded me all over again.

happily work hell should be easing off a bit as of now, and to celebrate i had a flying visit with tarteaucitron last weekend. amidst a variety of fannish activities (including meeting louiselux who i have described using the same adjective so many times over the past few days that she should probably changer her username to louiselovely and IT WOULD BE ACCURATE), tarte and i watched return of the king. tell me this, current and former lotrippers: why on earth were we not shipping viggo mortensen/sean bean? why? i mean, omnomnom, no? oh, you all were shipping them, you say? it is just me who has had this revelation around four years too late? excellent work, self! be later to the party next time! i also watched (i think) four episodes of merlin and read my first merlin/arthur fanfic. flist, i didn't hate it at all. i can't claim overtly fannish feelings, but i could definitely stand to watch the rest of the canon. i think tarte is v proud of me.

while i'm wibbling on about fandom, i saw a bit of talk about dreamwidth when i was poking around lj today. (did this used to be called scribblit or was that something unconnected?) i think it's basically a new journalling service built on lj code but developed by lj users, with the result being hopefully that it should avoid the pitfalls of adverts and all the rest of it that lj/6a/sup have seemed so determined to catch themselves in over the past couple of years. anyone thinking of moving? in honesty i expect i'll do whatever the majority of my flist are doing and i can't imagine any of you have much enthusiasm for migration (or, more likely, diaspora) but i do like the idea of what they're doing over there.

i'm having the sort of day where people just walk in front of me like i don't exist and i'm saving word files with names like "shoot me in the face now pls.doc" and i was going to make a super whiny post, but then i went out for a run and now i feel so much better. respiratorily speaking i'm pretty much back into my running groove, and that makes me want to run further, but my legs really aren't ready yet even if my lungs think they're good for it. my thighs were tight the minute i stopped moving tonight. i came home and stood under the shower eating an apple because i couldn't prioritise my need for food over my need for hot water or vice versa. the cat looked at me askance.

judging by the smells emanating from the kitchen, the bf is making a pizza topped with garlic and more garlic. let's not pretend i won't om nom it anyway.

what's keeping you sane, flist?

Title: You've No Clue, Do You?
Pairing: Rafael Nadal/Roger Federer plus bonus Feliciano Lopez (RPS)
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 4,500 approx.
Author's notes: i started writing this because morebliss wanted roger to flirt with feli, and finished writing it because it is louiselux's birthday today. happy birthday lou! just what you always wanted - a fic you've already read!

thanks to tarteaucitron for providing an excellent beta as usual, even though i am ungrateful and ignore all the useful and incisive things she says. sorry, tarte of my heart.

for the uninitiated, this is feli lopez.

( Underneath the table, he pressed his thigh more tightly against Roger's. No reaction. This was getting ridiculous. )

tell me a secret, flist. or just tell me something. anon commenting on, ip logging off, as always.

Title: Oneirophobia
Fandom:Bram Stoker's Dracula (novel)
Pairing: Lucy/Mina and also Dr Seward/Arthur Holmwood
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 4,500 approx.
Author's notes: this is my [Unknown LJ tag] story! i would never have thought about writing fanfic for this novel but i really enjoyed trying to get my head round the epistolary style of the book and the old-fashioned language, and particualrly trying to write sex that rang true given those constraints. this was my first year participating in yuletide and i really enjoyed it. i haven't had a chance to do all the reading i want to do over there yet, but the reveal will not deter me, dammit.

thanks as ever are due to tarteaucitron for drooling over gary oldman, displaying wild enthusiasm for mina/lucy and betaing like a pro. HARTS TARTE.

story also archived at the yuletide site here.

( I have been struggling in conscience. If this diary is to be reliable as a scientific document, I must record events accurately even where it causes me discomfort to recall them. Since I have begun using the opiate, I believe each night has seen me plunged into the same reverie. The scene is of the most sordid nature, and disturbingly vivid, in the manner of dreams. )

i'll do proper yuletide recs in a few days when i'm not so busy, but just a quick heads up for tennis flisters - the yuletide story i received is roger/rafa, and it's gorgeous, and it's here. go, read! an extra present to yourself!

merry christmas, everyone who celebrates. i raise a glass (or at least my tea mug) to you all :D

in-laws coming round for dinner in t-2 hours, flist. i am colon straight lining. wish me luck.

happy belated birthday, magnetic_pole!

one of my favourite people i have never met irl, soon to be one of my favourite people i have met irl :D

i hope you had a fabulous day in which baked goods, long walks and the better half featured prominently, and slides didn't get so much as a look in.

Title: Days Like These, I Miss You
Pairing: Rafael Nadal/Roger Federer (RPS)
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 10,000 approx.
Author's notes: AU set over the final 4 months of this year, if Roger had taken the career break some folk suggested he should. This was supposed to be a cracky, porny one-shot to cheer up morebliss after her neighbour went postal with some wine bottles. It twisted into something else entirely, mb, and it took forever, but it's still yours if you want it <3 Thanks to louiselux for hand-holding and some inspirational rog-related chat at a highly opportune moment and to tarteaucitron for customarily excellent beta skills, which this fic needed more than most. See you on Thursday, tarte of my heart :D

( Of all the risks they'd taken, this had to be the stupidest. )

things i am loving:

• the phrase "adverse camber." something about the way the words roll around together in your mouth and the ideas it conjures up. i'm not sure. something about it really appeals to me.


• this nail varnish i bought in "black cab". it's a bit goth, but it goes on really evenly and picks off in satisfying strips.


• the bbc documentary on the amazon with bruce parry. basically it seems to involve bruce taking a lot of drugs that haven't been classified and criminalised yet. he is the new michael palin for real.


• marks & spencers extra fine swiss milk chocolate with hazelnut. om nom nom nom NOM.

now you go, flist.

happy birthday elzed!

one of my most favourite forthright, flirtatious, fashionable, funny and (let's not forget) french flisters. it really is far too long since i've seen you, lady. i hope you have an absolutely fantastic day and that tarte gets you solidly hammered tonight.

i'm afraid i don't have a present for you, lz, for which you can blame this ( fine male specimen... )

back from connect. have lost my voice and my phone but otherwise had a ball. inordinately moved by the manics on friday night. best wellyboot dancing ever to the faint on sunday. (does the singer always dress like dr horrible or was it a shout out? ipsilateral?) laughed so much during franz ferdinand i could hardly sing. blythely, guy says hi. elbow played (beautifully) at the same time as rog was playing stepanek (beautifully also, by all accounts) on sunday evening. talk about emotional overload. <3

unexpected highlight of the festival: fine foods tent serving hot puddings with custard, like the best school dinners ever. i think i am in pudding withdrawal today.

haven't seen any tennis since uso round one, apart from about half an hour of rafa last night. horribly disconnected from the boys and the tournament and my tennishead flisters. thank god for tarteaucitron and her tennis text updates. morebliss, i heard the song your username is taken from on the radio on the way up to the festival on thursday. i was all "omg!" but my rl friends didn't seem to understand my excitement. then they slagged me for understanding rankings points once again, ironically considering i don't understand them at all.

in a state of general disarray now and my suddenly hyperactive social life is not yet ready to abate - i have 7 people coming over for pizza and dvds tonight when all i want to do is curl up on the couch with my laptop. all of which is a roundabout way of saying i'll never catch up with the flist from over the weekend. how are you, troops? what news?

i'm feeling a bit melancholy about the fact the olympics are over. funny how you can get so caught up in these things.

been having a pretty domesticated day today and actually made it through one major decluttering task i've been putting off for about two months. have one other major bout to go, which won't happen today, but come on, self. don't leave it another two months. i also made a tasty risotto for dinner with red pepper, cherry tomatoes and goat's cheese, and now i'm having a glass of really quite nice riesling from a bottle which mysteriously appeared in my fridge at some point over the weekend. i feel like i should be either reading or writing but i'm not sure what to read/write.

i've been very social over the past three days and i am feeling more human as a result. i really shouldn't spend so much time on my own, but when i'm on my own, spending time with people seems impossibly difficult. not quite sure what to do about that. additional note to self: asking friends for help is fine. waiting until you are so drunk you can hardly speak before doing so is not that clever. try behaving like an adult sometimes.

how are your sundays, flist? did you do that thing you meant to do? how did that work out for you?

Title: The Level of My Madness
Pairing: Rafael Nadal/Roger Federer (RPS)
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2,200 approx.
Author's notes: Crossdressing PWP featuring tennis players. I don't think there's any point trying to justify this, is there? Born of numerous late night tennis matches gtalking with tarteaucitron. Encourage her to post her fanart! Thanks for beta, loveliest.

Initially inspired by this picture:

( Rafa wasn't entirely sure how these dresses normally looked. )

Title:One Foot in the Stage Door
Pairing: Rafael Nadal/ Roger Federer (RPS)
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 4,300 approx.
Author's notes: Since you're all fully primed following yesterday's manifesto, I think this is the ideal time to whip out some dubiously-characterised wingfic. Yes, wingfic. What? Beta inevitably by tarteaucitron. I'll send down the tinfoil as soon as I've finished wrapping myself in it, tartiest. <3

Set immediately following this year's Wimbledon final.

( He took two steps towards the angle of the room and then he saw it: a white feather, gently carried on some invisible current of air. )

i am with tarteaucitron. we have watched poa and, in deference to my RDJ obsession, kiss kiss bang bang. scotland being scotland at this time of year, the night has come and gone without us noticing. we may be drunk, but this is wonderful.

FLIST HELP. i am having a hair dye emergency.

some of you know i have been bleaching my hair with peroxide for about 12 months now. i've just finished bleaching my roots and basically i've not left the bleach on long enough, so my roots are a shade or two darker than the rest of my hair and also slightly orange. unhelpfully, i am scheduled for bridesmaiding duties a week tomorrow.

ARGH.

should i:
(a) bleach my roots again to lift them another couple of shades? will that make them even brassier/destroy all my hair?
(b) use a regular shop-bought clairol (or whoever) ash blonde dye all over my hair to calm it all down?
(c) use my special purple shampoo designed to take the "warmth" out of the yellow bits? (i am not sure that's going to make a dramatic enough difference in the week available to me.)
(d) ask the wedding photographer to take all the pictures in black & white/balance out my hair colour in photoshop afterwards?
(e) flee the country?

obviously i am taking the recommended first step in any such emergency and downing a large glass of red wine. FUCK FLIST. i'm shaving all my hair off after this wedding and letting it grow back my natural colour.

flist, friendsfriends, lurkers, anyone: HELP ME.

tell me a secret, flist. anonymous or logged in, about everything and anything or nothing. get it off your chest.

ip logging is off. comments are screened.