Exam results...

I'm going to Cambridge.


(A* in History, with 100% in the exam - holy shit, guys, how did that happen? A in English, Classics and Politics.)

My life has just been made. Seriously. I'm going to go out and enjoy a few drinks with friends, it'll all be lovely.
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School's out for summer!

Well, exams are over, the school's Leavers' Ball is tonight and despite the England football team playing atrociously and getting knocked out Andy Murray is in the semi-finals of Wimbledon and Federer's out, so things could be worse.

Except for the fact that the weather has, in fact, been scorching. This does not suit my admittedly pale, ginger-afflicted skin tone. After two and a half hours on the beach yesterday and copious amounts of sunblock applied every fifteen seconds I still managed to get horrifically sunburnt over my shoulders and feet.

FFS. *sighs*
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    Hoosiers, Cops and Robbers

Musings on Doctor #11

I love the new Doctor Who. 'Nuff said.

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In other horrific, horrific news, my days of cooking and eating gingerbread may be over. The last three times I've had it, I've felt very, very ill. It's not just my cooking, because it's been made by a friend and the last time was shop bought ginger biscuits.

This is life changing, people. How will I survive university now? Gingerbread's the only thing I can cook!
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    Pomplamoose - Hail Mary
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FIC: The Critical Reception - TW_lucky_7 Submission

For some reason, I wanted to call this fic Bork Bork Bork, but that would have been highly inappropriate. I've not been as productive creatively over the last few weeks because I've been doing a play competition - so, writing, directing, acting, prop making (I spent a lot of this week making a comedy Hydra costume, of all the things), so this is a mite late. Sorry!

Title: The Critical Reception
Author: Ginger
Rating: 15, or Teen (for graphic description)
Prompt: Gluttony
Characters: Jack, Ianto (Mention of Tosh)
Spoilers: For Countrycide, and perhaps a small one from CoE
Warnings: Quite dark. You're warned.
Summary: After all is said and done, Jack reflects on the Brecon Beacons. For tw_lucky_7 prompt Gluttony.
A/N: I wanted to do a new take on the prompt, which took a while to write as IRL has whacked me around the face. Sorry it's so late.

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FIC: The Approval Rating - TW_lucky_7 Submission

We've had snow! Lots of snow, to the point where school was closed! Considering that I live very close to the coast at the bottom of a large hill, getting snowed into our little hamlet was something of a minor achievement. That said, we also ran out of gas on Wednesday afternoon, which was not so fun as it meant we had no heating. Bloody freezing. Thankfully, the gas man turned up this morning, so we now do have heating and I can actually feel my fingers as I type, which is also a start.

But that is not the intention of this post. Ooh, no. I signed up for the Seven Deadly Sins challenge on tw_lucky_7 in a moment of madness, and I have my first offering for it. This week's sin was 'Pride', and while I've taken it in a different direction I wanted to explore teenage Ianto a little, so here we go. Teenage Ianto is obviously a very different beast to the Ianto we meet in Torchwood because by then he's probably had a good dose of PTSD as well as being configured by One, but I think I've still managed to keep him IC - feedback loved and appreciated!

Title: The Approval Rating
Author: Ginger, yours truly
Sin: Pride
Rating: G
Character: Ianto Jones
Summary: "Buck your ideas up then, boy... and make me a cup of tea." Ianto would have liked his father to be proud of him.
A/N: Ianto is actually the pet form of Ifan and this fic uses it as such. Sorry if it's mildly confusing.

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A seemingly important question (and a uni aside...)

Well, people seemed to like my last fic (or at least were being indulgently kind). I was pleasantly surprised. It got me to thinking that perhaps I should post more often, and then that that particular piece of writing lends itself well to an AU all of its own, seeing as people seemed to like it so much. I have plans. They are fun plans, but cannot be written now.

Damn exams. Give me a couple of weeks.

In other news...

I have an offer from Cambridge! *dies of happiness* A* A A offer, which is hellishly high, but just means I'll have to work harder and spend less time on Torchwood fic and fandom. That sucks majorly, really. Ah, well, it'll be worth it in the long run. Also, Durham's Classics department have sent my application off to the colleges as well, which is great, as it means they haven't flat-out rejected me.

So, back on topic, people on my friends list who have read aforementioned fic: opinions, please. Should I extend it and keep running with the concept, or let it lie?
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Fic: Returning Home

I'm normally fairly quick off the mark with fic after fandom events (my post Day 2 fic, for instance, which was sadly not representative of what was to come), and today is no exception. I come bearing fic which tries to patch the wound of today's TV. It's also fix-it fic! Whoopee!

I've not written an epic fix yet, but I will. At some point. I have a lot of fic ideas flying around and not enough time to write them all, but after consulting queenfanfiction on this one, I was told to post it and quickly. So, here we go...

Title: Returning Home
Author: Yours truly! Ginger (gingerbreadlass).
Rating: U (for all!)
Warnings: Shameless fixit!fic with a good deal of denial thrown in. Very mild Ten bashing.
Spoilers: CoE Day 4, The End of Time
Disclaimer: This lot aren't mine - they are the BBC's playthings. If they were mine, I wouldn't even have to write this, because Ianto would never have died in the first place.
A/N: If you can guess which book is quoted, I'll... congratulate you but be mildly worried at the same time. Concrit gladly accepted, though I am feeling mildly fragile at the moment.

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    (Not) Getting Married Today: Carol Burnett
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FIC: The Unwilling Observer (Reel Torchwood Submission)

I really did enjoy this ficathon, though god knows what with illness and Christmas reviews and interviews and all sorts of other bits and pieces I barely had time to write it. My epic had to be scaled back to one scene, which was fantastic fun to write (a new found love for Owen has been sparked for me in the making of this fic) and is apparently quite funny. Hope everyone enjoys.

Title: The Unwilling Observer
Author: Ginger (aka Gingerbreadlass)
Prompt: Four Weddings and a Funeral
Pairing(s): Jack/Ianto
Rating: R
Warnings: Non-explicit sex, accidental voyeurism, minor anti-gingerism
Spoilers: nil poit.
Disclaimer for TW and the movie you are using: Torchwood is the property of the BBC, but god knows the fans should own it. Meanwhile, Four Weddings and a Funeral is all Richard Curtis', basically.
Summary: Owen thought his day couldn't get any worse. Well, it could. Bloody Harkness.
A/N: Though it's probably entirely unnecessary to point out, Owen's opinions aren't mine, and regrettably trying to write him IC somehow ended up involving a bit of red head bashing. As a proud ginger myself, I'm not going to apologise for it. I felt the need to warn in case anyone has a major issue, but otherwise enjoy. It's supposed to be funny, after all.

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A post, you say?! Oh, a rant. Never mind.

Whoever invented the pencil skirt - and it could only be a man who designed the things - should be shot. If they're dead, someone needs to back in time and shoot them.

Obviously, they were designed to be aesthetically pleasing and therefore, in the tradition of suffering for your beauty/art/whatever they've decided you have to suffer for next, they are a royal pain in the arse. They were obviously designed to be worn only by women who spend their lives standing up, stock still, legs together. I don't know whether cars were invented at the time, but there was obviously no consideration taken to the dignity one loses by having to climb out of the back seat or fall out of a mini-bus, which I have done at least twice, as you can't move your legs! You cannot go anywhere fast, stairs are occasionally an interesting experience and all the things seem to do is ride up your legs and show off the thigh you'd prayed to keep under wraps.

Ooh. Why can't they sell slightly less constricting smart skirts! God, following uniform codes is such a bore (damn contract). I own two pencil skirts, because you can only walk home to a rural pocket through the mud so many times until you run out of clean, smart trousers. They piss me off immensely. As someone who prefers to spend their time running wild and wearing comfy things, they are a royal pain in the arse, but there's only so much you can do in these situations when no one's selling much else on the high street.

Research (thank you, Wikipedia): these things were designed by Christian Dior. Bloody typical. And they did have cars at the time, it was during the 1940s. Silly man. What was he thinking?

In other news, next week is going to be hellish, which is more than mildly depressing. I'm up in Cambridge on Monday and Wednesday for entrance interviews and tests respectively, so wish me luck! Along with that, I have a concert to sing in on Thursday and rehearsals for a Christmas revue, which goes up on Saturday. Argh. I do far too much. Considering that I only found out about the Wednesday Cambridge bits and pieces yesterday and am now having hell with my transport arrangements (looks like I'll be spending £40 on train fare), this is going to be an interesting week, entirely devoid of History, oddly enough. Ah, well, these things happen.

My reel_torchwood fic has, therefore, had to be heavily scaled down from the monster I'd originally planned to a short, mildly humorous snippet involving a slightly drunken Owen, among other things. I've got about 500 words so far, so we'll see where it takes me. Humour helps me keep my mind off scary prospects of interviews and upcoming exams, so I'm not going to complain.