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Belated Merry Christmas (and on-time happy Hannukah, since we're only two days into it) to everybody.
I'm back from Virginia, whence my family must drive every single Christmas morning of our lives (the roads from St. Mary's County to Williamsburg only run south, you know), with a massive haul of, well, mostly money. Apparently I'm hard to buy for or something, because everybody except my parents and![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
pixyofthestyx gave me cash.
But cash is always appreciated and can be stuck in the bank to cover grad school application costs (omg UVA is even more miserable to apply to than Maryland), and my shiny, shiny new Magnificent Seven dvds and even shinier jewelry (WWII RAF pilots wings and my great, great aunt's monogramed gold signet ring--the woman had everything she owned monogramed. Yeah, I've no right to the wings and it's someone else's initials on the ring, but, shiny!) are more than enough to satisfy my desire to have stuff to exult over.
If I were a good little fan, I'd be going on about what a relief it was to have my yuletide story done, but being a bad fangirl with far too much real life stuff (like the aforementioned grad school applications) on her plate, I didn't sign up for yuletide.
I did promisepixyofthestyx Aramis torture Three Mustketeers fanfic, though. I swear I'll have the thing done--or at least started on enough that I can post some--by New Years. As soon as I do some more research on the siege of La Rochelle, check how long it generally takes for something like a musket ball in the shoulder to become infected, figure out how to make my little detour fit into the book's timeline(or, alternatively, say fuck the timeline and stick it in wherever, since Dumas pretty much does that in his own canon), and go look up a couple of nice, annoying St. Augustine quotations to work into dialogue where appropriate. I think Aramis would probably fangirl St. Augustine like, well, like d'Artagnian fangirls Athos. Whom he has a massive, hero-worshipping, slashy crush on.
I should not be allowed near 19th century literature. I really shouldn't.
I'm back from Virginia, whence my family must drive every single Christmas morning of our lives (the roads from St. Mary's County to Williamsburg only run south, you know), with a massive haul of, well, mostly money. Apparently I'm hard to buy for or something, because everybody except my parents and
pixyofthestyx gave me cash. But cash is always appreciated and can be stuck in the bank to cover grad school application costs (omg UVA is even more miserable to apply to than Maryland), and my shiny, shiny new Magnificent Seven dvds and even shinier jewelry (WWII RAF pilots wings and my great, great aunt's monogramed gold signet ring--the woman had everything she owned monogramed. Yeah, I've no right to the wings and it's someone else's initials on the ring, but, shiny!) are more than enough to satisfy my desire to have stuff to exult over.
If I were a good little fan, I'd be going on about what a relief it was to have my yuletide story done, but being a bad fangirl with far too much real life stuff (like the aforementioned grad school applications) on her plate, I didn't sign up for yuletide.
I did promise
pixyofthestyx I should not be allowed near 19th century literature. I really shouldn't.