Had another oO LOM moment while reading Dalziel and Pascoe:
"So suppose when you die, time shifts? Well, why not? It certainly stops, doesn't it? Briefly for a moment as she dies, she goes back. You know they say your life flashes before you as you drown? So, it's a cliche, but it's what people who've been saved from drowning have said. Suppose it's not just your life but the whole of life. And once you're beyond yours, you're beyond the point of being saved." - Reginald Hill 1980, "A Killing Kindness".
Too bad the series (LOM) will be screened, done and answered before I can get any of this speculative fic off the ground. I know, I've had all year, but, well, usually mentioning the name of my lord and master (or the least publicity shy one, at any rate, as I am the unhappy servant of two masters), usually has folks nodding with sad understanding. My life is not my own, alas. No time for sleep, let alone fic. Sigh.
Go one, let's see how much fic you'd churn out between the hours of 10pm and 4am, every day, every week. Don't forget you have to shop and eat at some stage, too.
Speaking of all things 70s, Adam Spencer was sporting a might fine effort for Movember on the very last Glasshouse ever (boo! hiss!) but I noticed he'd teamed it with a 70s shirt and tie, looking like he'd raided Gene's wardrobe. It amused me.
Sad about the last GH though. Loved Wil's sign off quote: "Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke." Want that on my headstone, please.
Uh oh, tears before bedtime in Sherwood Forest, methinks. That was me, howling "You bitch!" at the telly last night. But enough of psychoboys in lincoln green.
Somehow, the fisticuffs and snarking on Life on Mars seem far less hurtful (a kidney punch means 'I love you'). Which is what I should have been watching last night (but am easily distracted by shiny things). Must see if I can get that snogging scene down on paper today.
Revolution! I can hear the anti IR laws march from here. It sounds very mighty and impressive. Why aren't I, child of over 200 years worth of unionists and rebels out there chanting? My boss has chained me to the desk. With you, my brothers.
Heh. The march stopped right underneath the balcony. It's an impressive sight, I must say. Glad I wore my old shirt, though, as I'm covered in muck from leaning over the balcony and waving (and even gladder of ye olde shirt when I treated myself to a tandoori chicken sandwich).
Shit. So much to do. Not enough time.
And no smirking about black clad chaps tied to trees and menanced with pointy things either, apparently.
Dismay at BBC as Grade is revealed as new ITV chief
Blood, sweat and fears
For Altman, each film part of a bigger story
Robert Altman's career in films
The timelord of Currock
The Big Question: Are apologies for historical events worthwhile or just empty gestures?
Broken leg may have killed Tutankhamun
U2's beautiful days
On Architecture: The suburbs don't have to be boring
Pentagon investigates soldiers' YouTube clips
Welcome to fickle world of a career in television
Bond, James BoooOOAAAGHHH!!
"Flushed Away" Berlin Pemiere - Arrivals
Life on Mars
Life on Mars
ABBA museum planned
Prehistoric fish had bite stronger than a T-rex
Rembrandt 'copies' are authentic, says expert
To Web Fans, Peter Jackson Is the One True Director
Sex Will Make You Go Blind
Bones: More of Your Burning Questions Answered!
Sir Elton berates Australian PM
Ancient Moon 'computer' revisited
Siege of Acre
Guy of Gisbourne
116. Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne
Much the Miller's Son
Thousands protest against IR laws
Spit (cooking aide)
After 35 years, crowds to flock back to city's western oasis
Sea warming threatens climate disaster
If you listen carefully even pop stars sing the blues
UK workers protest Australia's 'draconian' laws
Woman in indecent act with horse, say police
Whoops, wrong snogging scene:
Robin jerked suddenly, trapped in nightmare, thrashing and moaning loudly. Much was instantly awake and rolled over on top of him, pinning him, and before Robin could wake the camp or any one else he silenced him with a kiss, having long since learnt that trying to silence Robin by covering his mouth with a hand was the quickest way to having his hand bitten and his throat slashed open, all before Robin was fully awake.
A dull blade had saved him before, now something just as hard pressed against his belly as Robin's distress and confusion warmed into sensual playfulness as they kissed. Hands pulled clumsily at clothes and they tumbled together until Much was below and Robin was above, enfolding him, embracing him, and then inside him, grunting softly as he took his pleasure. Blood hot now, Robin was a wild thing, riding him hard to a gallop, sides sweating, racing for the finish and Much despaired of it ending before he had even begun and without thinking he grabbed hard of the arm Robin had wrapped around him and Robin stopped for a moment, recovered himself, and began again more slowly and together they swayed in time until the end.
Robin lay there for a moment, panting, then pushed off him, curling into Much's arms and falling into sleep once more. Much stroked his master's hair far more tenderly than duty required, and settled down with him. He saw Will watching him, with those dark eyes that saw everything, but he didn't care. He threw him a challenging look, but was rebuffed by disinterest.
It wasn't as if none of them knew what his duties to Robin entailed. Alan had found them once, down by the creek: Robin leaning languorously along the length of an ancient tree, his arms draped loosely around Much who knelt before his master. Much had paused momentarily like a startled deer but a soft pat on his head had led him continue and Robin had been roused to the finish and spilled over into Much, all the while watching Alan watching them. Much, for himself, had made the extra effort to make Robin come hard and long, and resisted the urge to choke on him. Later, Much realised, it probably hadn't been prudent or clever to demonstrate such an expertise in that particular skill, but he took pride in his work and if that meant making his master moan loud enough in rapture to startle the birds in the trees, so be it.
And if it meant holding him in the dead of night while memory and dark creatures scuttled about around them, felt but unseen, then so be that, as well. Robin was his master and Much would not let him sleep cold or alone, not then and not now. Not ever.
It was more than duty. More than friendship. To Much, it was a higher calling than fealty. It was love.