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*gurgles*
I didn't think it was possible to be this tired and still have so much to do. I look at the To Do list and its length just makes me feel even MORE TIRED. And I've stopped buying coffee at uni because that's the kind of money that needs to be saved for Queensland and America and Christmas presents. And. Oh god. I don't know how I got through today without falling asleep in a lecture or collapsing all over my gel box and screwing up my DNA profiling experiment.
Which was cool. I felt very CSI.
But I don't think I've had a proper, helpful, full nights sleep for a good two weeks, because the holidays were a blur of staying up insanely late and then panicking and getting up to work and never working.
It's my insane workload and I'll bitch if I want to.
But I won't inflict much more upon you, so: hiatus again until at least Tuesday night, by which time my exam will be over and I will resemble a shuffling zombie of stress and sleep deprivation. Entertainment for all! Right now, though, I am going to try and switch my brain off for long enough to actually rest.
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Sophie - best wishes and much love, hon :D Hope your birthday is a good one. I present you with pretty much the only snippet I've written of your fic that makes the slightest amount of sense out of context. The slightest amount being, um, not much at all, but hey.
“Angel!” he shouts, not caring a whit who intercepts the wave or who hears the tinny blasted voice at the other end. Let them say the CEO of Bentley is mad, fond of flaming gay nicknames, whatever the fuck they want. “Aziraphael. Drop everything and get the hell out of there, the Morningstar knows where you are and he’s –”
The connection cuts into static and whistles. Crowley kicks the panel below the comlink and pulls his fist back before he smashes Wash’s controls and whirls around, hand still wavering with tight suppressed fury, and almost knocks the pilot himself over.
“What are you doing?” he hisses.
Wash stands firm. “I’m not needed. Not yet. River’s going to be a while. I just figured you...you shouldn’t be. Ah.” He tries, not very subtly, to peer under Crowley’s shaking arm and inspect his control panel.
“Nothing broken,” Crowley says, and his mouth twists and it’s a stunning lie.
I didn't think it was possible to be this tired and still have so much to do. I look at the To Do list and its length just makes me feel even MORE TIRED. And I've stopped buying coffee at uni because that's the kind of money that needs to be saved for Queensland and America and Christmas presents. And. Oh god. I don't know how I got through today without falling asleep in a lecture or collapsing all over my gel box and screwing up my DNA profiling experiment.
Which was cool. I felt very CSI.
But I don't think I've had a proper, helpful, full nights sleep for a good two weeks, because the holidays were a blur of staying up insanely late and then panicking and getting up to work and never working.
It's my insane workload and I'll bitch if I want to.
But I won't inflict much more upon you, so: hiatus again until at least Tuesday night, by which time my exam will be over and I will resemble a shuffling zombie of stress and sleep deprivation. Entertainment for all! Right now, though, I am going to try and switch my brain off for long enough to actually rest.
---
Sophie - best wishes and much love, hon :D Hope your birthday is a good one. I present you with pretty much the only snippet I've written of your fic that makes the slightest amount of sense out of context. The slightest amount being, um, not much at all, but hey.
“Angel!” he shouts, not caring a whit who intercepts the wave or who hears the tinny blasted voice at the other end. Let them say the CEO of Bentley is mad, fond of flaming gay nicknames, whatever the fuck they want. “Aziraphael. Drop everything and get the hell out of there, the Morningstar knows where you are and he’s –”
The connection cuts into static and whistles. Crowley kicks the panel below the comlink and pulls his fist back before he smashes Wash’s controls and whirls around, hand still wavering with tight suppressed fury, and almost knocks the pilot himself over.
“What are you doing?” he hisses.
Wash stands firm. “I’m not needed. Not yet. River’s going to be a while. I just figured you...you shouldn’t be. Ah.” He tries, not very subtly, to peer under Crowley’s shaking arm and inspect his control panel.
“Nothing broken,” Crowley says, and his mouth twists and it’s a stunning lie.
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But it doesn't stop me from reading them anyway. And this one - akdfju;dlscliffhanger! :O!
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...Yep.
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FAHYE! FAHYE! WRITE MORE! DO IT!
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Somehow it's easier to do a crossover with GO/DW than GO/HP.
That said...
I am sure, when you disappear for five days, your flist shall be swamped, and the odds of you skipping it entire are at least interesting.
So I link you here (http://www.livejournal.com/community/toomanysails/10072.html), because I want you to read it.
(PS: I also join the choir of people saying they want more of this fic. And then I go make coffee, which is all your fault. ♥)