Little Deaths in Mechanical Beds: Epilogue [18/18]
- Top Gear
- James May / Richard Hammond
- 3,000 words.
- kraken_wakes deserves a medal for doing such a mammoth beta on the whole eighteen parts. *hearts*


For full author notes and links to previous chapters, please click here.

Summary: Before he really knew what was happening, James had his knee between Richard's thighs and his hand was tugging at the top button of Richard's fly.

Little Deaths in Mechanical Beds

I would just like to point out that there is absolutely no point to this post AT ALL apart from the fact that this is my bad week and Spencer is my sparkly thing so, yeah. Find your own sparkly thing. If you take mine I will have to- do something bad. Maybe involving sporks.

Here's my Spencer Smith picture folder, with occasional commentary. I believe my ability to type will deteriorate to the point where I just type SPENCER SPENCER SPENCER or possibly akdhguaoytugjhad and expect you to understand. I don't apologise for any duplicates because it's Spencer J Smith V and I don't care if you have to look at him twice. A billionty photos beneath the cut.

( Spencer Smith, put those wiles down. Stop it, I say. )


God, there was absolutely no reason for that apart from it MADE ME FEEL BETTER. I am inherently a selfish person.

Maybe at some point there will be pictures of Spencer with, I don't know. Other people, perhaps. I have a very well organised picture folder.

Little Deaths in Mechanical Beds [5/18 and 6/18]
- Top Gear
- James May / Richard Hammond
- Adult. R.
- 850 words and 1000 words respectively.
- kraken_wakes deserves a medal for doing such a mammoth beta on the whole eighteen parts. *hearts*
- Notes: There are minor changes to canon. Mindy and Richard are married, but they've never had children. James is single. Richard's jet car accident never happened. In my head, this fic is vaguely contemporary, occurring over the past couple of years.
- The chapters get longer, I promise. There's a gazillion more words to come. They're just weighted rather unfairly towards the end.


For full author notes and links to previous chapters, please click here.

Summary: Before he really knew what was happening, James had his knee between Richard's thighs and his hand was tugging at the top button of Richard's fly.

He was sick and tired of feeling like he was lost in his own head.



Two chapters again, more after the weekend. The link goes straight to part five, link to part six is at the bottom.


I tell you what, this being at home lark is marvellous. Coffee in the pot ready for when I get out of bed. Amazing.

Little Deaths in Mechanical Beds [3/18 and 4/18]
- Top Gear
- James May / Richard Hammond
- Adult. NC-17.
- 1,400 words and 2,000 words respectively.
- kraken_wakes deserves a medal for doing such a mammoth beta on the whole eighteen parts. *hearts*
- Notes: There are minor changes to canon. Mindy and Richard are married, but they've never had children. James is single. Richard's jet car accident never happened. In my head, this fic is vaguely contemporary, occurring over the past couple of years.


For full author notes and links to previous chapters, please click here.

Summary: Before he really knew what was happening, James had his knee between Richard's thighs and his hand was tugging at the top button of Richard's fly.

Two chapters today, mostly because I'll be clogging up your flist for weeks as it is. *grins*

The third time it happened Richard was more prepared. [link to chapter four at the bottom]


I have FLOWERS on my desk, people. In a Dolmio bolognese jar. LOVE.

There is nothing more satisfying on a Monday morning then seeing tens of richly dressed business men and women being caught without tickets on the way out of the train station and a queue of embarrassed people giving their names and addresses to a team of policemen. MUAHAHAHA. /evil.

Anyway. Have some fic.

Title: Little Deaths in Mechanical Beds [1/18]
Author: sunsetmog
Fandom: Top Gear
Pairing: James May / Richard Hammond
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 1,462

Notes and acknowledgements: Massive thanks should also go to kraken_wakes who - despite not being a massive fan of Top Gear fic in general - betaed the whole thing for me because she is generally awesome.

Story Notes: There are minor changes to canon. Mindy and Richard are married, but they've never had children. James is single. Richard's jet car accident never happened. In my head, this fic is vaguely contemporary, occurring over the past couple of years.

For full author notes, please click here.

Summary: Before he really knew what was happening, James had his knee between Richard's thighs and his hand was tugging at the top button of Richard's fly.

The first time it happened, it was pitch black and freezing cold outside.

Now I'm going to go and drink bucket loads of coffee and try to look as if I'm doing work.

This post was going to be entitled "I LOVE THEIR STUPID LITTLE FACES" and entirely full of pictures of boys from bands with stupid little faces. Except, well, it's not because I don't have my picture folder at work, so I LOVE THEIR STUPID LITTLE FACES as a theme will have to wait.

Hang on, I wonder what I've got hanging about in my photobucket. *goes to explore*

Right. I have random pictures. All of which I think I've posted before, but still. What the hell. Let's see 'em again.




( BOYS. BOYS. WHY ARE YOU SO ADORKABLY ATTRACTIVE? )


In other news, I have a sore throat (BOO) and accidentally wrote 12,000 words of fic in two days whilst at work. Yes, really.

I woke up stupidly early this morning, fresh from a nightmare in which I forgot to pack my bookcases.

Why can't I have normal nightmares, about being chased by vampires or murdered in my sleep or something? I wake up panicking because I haven't got enough space for my books.

Anyway, the subtitle of this post is Ten Thirteen Times My Chemical Romance Has Made Me Happy: A Love Story Between sunsetmog and My Chemical Romance, in Pictures.

( My Chemical Romance make me happy. There, I've said it again, okay? )

...by the end there I'd just resorted to typing their names in capitals and hoping that would capture it all right there.

Have I mentioned lately that this year is shaping up to be the best year I can remember? This is basically me on a daily basis: \o/ \o/ \o/

I find myself smiling gleefully at the bus stop for no apparent reason whatsoever.

Supplementing this addiction to life and all the good things that seem to be coming with it at the moment is a true and honest appreciation of all things bandom-y, and especially the hook that pulled me in. Yes, we're talking the most ridiculously hot boots on the planet (family members, I suggest you wander away at about this point) and an entire picspam dedicated to the glorious things that are, yes, Mikeyway's boots. So. Join me in pulling this face: :D:D:D and click on the cut.


Ten Sixteen reasons why Mikeyway has the best boots on the planet.

( ...and the best thing about posting photos of Mikeyway's boots is that they tend to come with a Mikeyway attached )
So there we are. My day is good (my year is good) and therefore there is Mikeyway.

Ten Twelve reasons why I love My Chemical Romance (and I'm not ashamed to hide it anymore)


(this was going to be my extremely belated new year's resolution post, but instead, it's My Chemical Romance. Tough shit.)

( I feel like I should be at an AA meeting or something. Hi, my name is sunsetmog and I'm addicted to My Chemical Romance )

Now I am going to catch a bus to buy new eyeshadow and eyeliner. I promised myself that this year I would limit purchase of:
a) books (SCREWED. Have bought approximately fifteen this month alone)
b) CDs (SCREWED. Have bought two in the last week and ordered four more online)
c) eyeliner and eyeshadow (SCREWED. CANNOT RESIST)

But, hey, you know. I've been ill. I deserve a treat. *coughs*

There is genuinely no reason for this post other than the fact I am utterly and completely and entirely bored out of my fucking mind. I've just watched approximately fifteen episodes of Coupling (not joking) so in a complete break from that, I'm going to ramble on about QAF.

Therefore, the rest of this post is brought to you by my overwhelming and consuming love for Brian Kinney. I still happen to think he is - quite possibly - the most beautiful man I've ever seen, and whilst this doesn't quite make up for the fact that the ending to Queer as Folk US was the most unsatisfying ending to a TV series I've ever watched, it kind of goes some way towards lessening the blow. In my head, I stil have to think of 510 as the last episode. That's because I'm weak.

Still, my two cliched (but rightly so) favourite moments from QAF US, for pure reminiscence and enjoyment. If you've never seen QAF US, these are from the last episode of series 1 and almost the last episode of series 5. No prior knowledge is required for watching, it's just Brian being utterly beautiful and me being obsessed. Oh, and Brian and Justin being sweet, in their own particular way.


and one more beneath the cut:

( it took five years, but by god it was worth it )

Brian Kinney, I love you and I'm not ashamed to say it.



And today's c4 ep of Hollyoaks had my favourite Sarah fashion so far - red hot pants, black knee length socks and a black and white checked tablecloth for a top. Marvellous. You couldn't make it up.

For no other reason other than the fact that I can, James May quotes:

From Oz and James's Great Wine Adventure (or whatever that series was called):



James May (on the subject of Oz Clarke in his car): He left a banana on my woodwork and it leaked and got sticky juice in all the switches. I hate him for that. I hate him.

Oz (on James and his car): Yeah? At least I don't clean my car with a miniature paint brush. Talk about anal.



and later on:

James: It's quarter past five, or quarter past six in local time and Oz has brought me out into what looks likes the middle of nowhere to pick some grapes, which is my idea of a holiday really, getting up at you know, oh christ hundred hours and doing some horny-handed manual toil of the sort that they did in 1520. Marvellous.



...I love James May, that will be all.

Apart from to say that I spent much of the afternoon talking Doctor Who with silverweave, now I'm watching early season one Buffy, and tomorrow it's time to introduce thinkpink20 to Christopher Eccleston and Billie, for she is not of the Doctor Who watching fraternity yet. Note: yet.

No, no no no no no no NONONONONO.

Slave Bear

Care Bears BDSM fic.

Quote beneath the cut. ( You are going to be punished. )

I say it again, no no no no no no no no no NO NO NO. MY BRAIN. WHERE IS THE FIC BRAIN BLEACH?

Okay Flist, I need your help. As most of you know, I'm going back into hospital on Monday.

And I have a Borders gift card which is good for one book, and I want your recommendations for what to buy, under the following criteria:

* Last time I was too ill to read anything for about five days, and I had to send all the books I had chosen home with my parents because they were too complicated and my poor morphine-d mind couldn't cope with the concentration required. Hopefully this time won't be as bad, but it's still not going to be very nice.

* Happy ending, please. No tragedy. I'm reading Anna Karenina at the moment and I'm hoping to get it finished by Monday but that's looking more and more like it's not going to happen. It is, of course, the annual family fancy dress barbecue this weekend (scheduled weather = catastrophic, of course) but I want something good and happy to go alongside my Georgette Heyers (definitive hospital reading, I find).

Actually, tell me your favourite book or books or what I should have read or be reading. And then tell me if this should be in hospital or after.

Oh, and if you wanted to know waht I actually own, here is a mostly finished record: my Librarything account (I hasten to add, this is the kind of thing you do when you've been off work since March. I recommend the covers view). Oh, and please ignore the seven thousand Chalet School books I own, I'm a completist and have the same books in about four different editions even though the text is still the same in most cases.

Books! Lovely Books!

For no other reason than I think Lee Mead is really rather delicious, and because Mum has got tickets for me and her and fishwink to see him in Joseph in October.

My personal favourite, Lee singing Elvis's The Devil in Disguise:


( Under the cut, Lee singing the Rolling Stones' Paint it Black )


And I have a new address, again, and everything's been rushed and a little bit stressful recently.

My brother bought me Ultimate Disney Princess on CD for my birthday.

(Yes, yes, to those nit-pickers in the audience, my birthday was in December, he's just catching up. His birthday was in August and I gave him a joint Christmas and Birthday present so he's probably just paying me back.)

Anyway, I bought him a Jean-Claude Van Damme box set for his birthday, because he has abysmal taste in films and wanted it. It was the most embarrassing thing I've ever bought, although coming a close second was having to buy the Greatest Hits of Girls Aloud for my niece's tenth birthday. I hope that he had to pick up the (pink and sparkly) CD and carry around and buy it himself, although I believe it's likely his girlfriend was able to offset the embarrassment.

So, I've been singing along to a Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes without much attempt at pretending to be a strong, independent person who has no need for Disney in her life.

It's pink. And sparkly.


...although the third CD contains a version of the Siamese Cat Song by Hilary and Haylie Duff. Now I know that bloodeye has already heard this, as I distinctly remember dancing to it in his shed last November 5th (I wouldn't ask), but I'd forgotten just quite how awful it was.

This is quite clearly, the best CD ever.

So, in the manner of one who has things she'd Rather Not Think About, I have been busy all morning.

I have left a ridiculously long voicemail for thinkpink20 - so long I ran out of time on the first message and had to call back.

I have cleaned, and I have cleaned, and I have cleaned. I have hoovered and dusted and wiped down and mopped and washed and there is still loads to do, but sometimes even when there are Things Not To Think About there is still the whole recovering from major surgery thing, so I've stopped. I still have two rooms left to do and bits in the bathroom and everything from the floor up in the kitchen. But I'm on my second load of washing (although I missed a pocket in my jeans on the first wash and was particularly dismayed to find that obviously (because the universe thinks playing with me is a funny way to pass the time) there were two tissues in said pocket so now the washing machine, the back yard, and, oh, the washing is covered in shreds of said tissue.

I was going to make two kinds of soup - chick pea and leek, and lentil and bacon, but right now I'm just going to sit here and do nothing for a while.


Oh, and yesterday I watched Ma Mere which is a French film (obviously!) with English subtitles and stars the French guy from The Dreamers. I bought The Dreamers because I really liked it at the cinema and decided as this was on special offer in Borders I'd treat myself.

...yes.

Ok, so it's possibly the most explicit thing I've ever watched - I watched most of it through my fingers which is always fun if the film is subtitled, and the Fairygnome rang up half way through and I was so shocked I couldn't tell her what was happening on screen.

What I could tell her was that it was about an incestuous mother/son relationship and that was only the start of it. Here's the IMDB entry and I've copied one of the user reviews of it below the cut (obviously full of spoilers should you wish to remain unspoiled for whatever reason):

( 'Ma mère' is a film on the edge. Director Christophe Honoré (who gave us the little jewel 'Closer to Leo') has adapted a tough book by Georges Bataille that explores incest, sadomasochism, love, family dysfunction, and nebulous moral values of conflicted adolescents caught in the web of sexual investigation. It is filled with difficult scenes and ideas and certainly is not a film for the faint of heart or spirit, but at the same time it is a brave film depicting the dissociative state of sexual mind to which we've come after the influences of such thinkers as Bataille, Foucault, Derida, Gide, and others. )

...so that was nice and cheery. This, people, is why I can watch films like a Cinderella Story lots of times. Because no one does what that guy does, although there is over an hour of Chad Michael Murray.

And James May's column this week is funny, because it contains both Fusker the Cat and Jesus. No, really:

...by way of explanation I would like to turn to a figurine of Jesus Christ that I recently acquired in an exchange of plastic novelty items with our self-styled saviour here on earth, Jeremy Clarkson. There's no point leaving the Light of the World with that miserable sinner, because He'd end up in the back of a dark cupboard. Whereas I quite like having the old Nazarene around, so Jesus is currently brightening up a shelf in my kitchen.

Two blockquotes in one entry. Huh.

Most people know that Logan Echolls is the love of my life. (He shares the position with thinkpink20 but I'm hoping she won't mind). My relationship with Logan is a bit like a moth to a flame, I keep coming back for more. He's psychotic! He's not really at all, he's a giant marshmallow! He's an onion character; they spend the first series just peeling back the layers.

I remember watching the first episode and thinking, hang on, is *that* who I'm supposed to be finding attractive? and just thinking well, no. And then a few episodes later I discovered he was like a Brazilian beach parasite and he'd sort of buried his way under my skin and that's basically the story of Logan and I. I adore him, I love him, and I have a laminated picture of him blu-tacked to my laptop. (I hasten to add that I didn't do the laminating; that was Laura. When I first came out of hospital, she arrived at my house bearing the complete works of Jill Murphy's The Worst Witch and a full set of laminated Veronica Mars coaster-sized pictures for decoration).

I have spread the Word of Logan throughout the four corners of the British Isles (well, notably swiv in Scotland, who came down to stay and ended up watching all of Veronica Mars, fairygnome, who covers Northern Ireland and London, who spent the first couple of episodes going well, you and I don't have the same taste, but I can see you why you might like him but I don't and then fell for him too, and Laura, (who hates Wales but at least has an affinity with it) who is my Veronica partner-in-crime and has spent more nights at my house in the past few months than I can count, staying up late and watching Veronica season 1 and rewatching our favourite bits over and over again because we're sad Veronica geeks.

Anyway. What I have learnt over the past few months is that loving Logan is an inclusive experience. It's not just down to how he looks, because he's a relatively normal looking bloke. It's everything, it's his answerphone messages (Hi, you've reached Logan. Today's inspirational message of the day is the future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams. - Eleanor Roosevelt) which I have not copied in any way, shape or form, or in fact merged with a Life on Mars Stay Out of Camberwick Green-esque message. It's the fact he keeps doing these random things with his hands and he sort of makes me feel all warm inside and he's sort of adorable.

So, to honour his passing - or rather, the passing of Veronica Mars in general, here is a selection of Logan pictures from my hard drive. Oh, and links to the best bits on YouTube, because frankly, once I get back to work I'm going to need somewhere to escape too, and what better than my Logan tag?

[Of course, I didn't properly note where I found these pictures when I saved them. Credit should go somewhere for the capping, and if you know where then let me know]

( My day is complete. Veronica Mars has accused me of evil. )

Oh, and why did no one tell me I'd really like Gym Class Heroes? Well, okay, callsigns totally did, but it took me a while. I love this album :)

My toilet is fixed. Praise be, etc.

In return for such a glorious turn of events (am too sleepy to explain how and why and etc etc), it's time to do the photo meme again.

You know the drill, ask me to take a photo of something in my house or something you want to see, or just something random. I already have to prove to pippinmctaggart that my bathroom is smaller than her bathroom :)

Go on, ask me. I've got time to kill, after all, and all my belongings are going into storage in about three weeks (again) so get photos of them whilst you still can. *grins*

*wanders back to supernatural viewing*

I don't have a toilet. I do, however, have a mop bucket. The world hates me.

Anyway. I do have Top Gear clips.


James May has a moment of honesty. Possibly.

( more top gear clips because really, sometimes this is what you need )

Now if only I could find Richard Hammond's atrocious American accent when he's messing with the CB radios on the road trip: It's raining, I'm going North, and I'm looking for a Whore. Then my evening would truly be complete.