Saturday, May 04, 2013

C’est fini…

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johnlock… what else?

I want to throw a party.

My Johnlock fic is DONE.

(And I didn’t revert to writing pr0n when I got stuck. It’s strictly brOTP!Lock!!!)

In thirty-ish years of writing various stories, this is only the third one I’ve finished (outside of school assignments).

Seriously.

It’s definitely the longest at 13K+ words. (I’ve never been able to wrap up a NaNoWriMo project in 50K words, although I probably could have been able to.)

And if I submit it to FanFiction.net, it will be the second one I’ve ever let other people read.

The first was “Scott and Kate” - a heavily dramatized retelling of a night with Soulmate Boy - and only C-Rollz got to read it. He’ll be the only person to ever read it because his reaction… OMG. I can’t even… he killed me. With kindness, but still. It was intense. Maybe because it’s such a personal tale? I don’t know, but damn. He had me in tears.

I’d like to have it beta’d and brit-picked before it goes live, but I don’t know how realistic that goal is.

In the meantime, I’m just going to sit here and be proud of myself.

Posted by Matty on 05/04 at 09:24 PM
#threewordssuperwholockianPermalink

Hiddles is love

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holy fuck… this is eerily accurate

I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard at anything regarding fanfic (and I thought the bingo card was awesome)!

This one is probably my favorite: If Sherlock gets the milk, he’s DTF.

 

Posted by Matty on 05/04 at 07:53 PM
superwholockianPermalink

He’s such a child

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perfect benedict is perfect

The more I learn about this man, the less he surprises me.

——

Let’s talk self-harm, shall we?

I’ve never been one for blood, so conventional self-harm is something I’ve never been interested in.

But. I bite the shit out of my nails. My pinkies, usually.

The number of days I walk around with one of my pinkies covered in a band-aid wrap of my own creation is astonishing. I’ve actually managed to lose count of the number of times I’ve done it recently.

Thursday morning, I ripped off the ENTIRE pinky nail on my right hand. Like down to the cuticle. Gone, baby, gone. Just like that.

Can you believe I was pissed that it didn’t hurt? PISSED.

Isn’t that the whole point of self-harm? To replace mental pain with something tangible? To distract you from what’s really going on?

The only thing I got out of it is a band-aid on my pinky that gets in the way when I type.

The most ironic part of this?

A few years ago, I went to see a hypnotist about breaking my nail biting habit. Under hypnosis, and I mean completely under, she asked me why I bit my nails.

I told her it was a comfort thing.

And that I wasn’t going to stop.

Maybe I should have seen someone about curbing my self-harm habit instead…

I’m a little over trying to type with band-aids on my pinkies.

Posted by Matty on 05/04 at 11:26 AM
#threewordsbipolarPermalink