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Some of you have told me that I have a style (and that you like it ^^).

What would you say characterizes my style?

(Stolen from the delighful, fragrant, and all round good egg [livejournal.com profile] shouldboverthis.)
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Title: Percussive Therapy.

Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)

Pairing: None.

Rating: PG - Guts.

Word Count: About 2000?

Summary: Written for this prompt on the kink meme. One day in the lab, Sherlock says something/does something/generally pushes too hard, and Molly loses it, and uses the riding crop to vent her frustrations on Sherlock. Whether or not John witnesses this display is up to you. Totally gen is preferred, crack almost certainly required.

Notes/Warnings: Not much, dead bodies on account of it being set you know, in a morgue.

You could be forgiven for not seeing Molly Hooper... )
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So. I guess because LJ is kind of all the fail, and stuff, I'm shifting over to Dreamwidth a little. This is basically so that if there is a mass-exodus I've already done the hard bit.

I'll cross-post fic here and stuff I guess. I just thought you might like to know, I s'pose. If I get really cross I might restrict myself to the main comms, but who knows?

Anyway. [personal profile] errantcomment is me.
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Happy birthday [livejournal.com profile] beansidhe_baby!

Balance
What people don't often realise, (usually dazzled by Sherlock, who moves like he's got quick-silver in his veins) is that John is just as dextrous. Sherlock once witnessed him carry up the stairs and into the living room three bags of shopping, one basket of laundry, one ice-cream tub full of cupcakes, two bills and the evening papers, three parcels, his shoes (stepped in something unspeakable outside) a pot-plant and Sherlock's violin. This causes no end of frustration for Sherlock, who despite his grace, still cannot manage much more than his violin, sandwich and a cup of tea. And John has banned him from trying, since Mrs. Hudson was quite upset not only at the sound of six foot plus of gangling detective and assorted load thumping down the stairs  atspeed at three am, but also at the stains on the ceiling, and the damage to her aspidestra, which she swears has never been the same.

Huh.

Oct. 14th, 2011 01:35 am
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I've spent the entire day so fucking tired I fell asleep at uni and went home early. Now it's time to sleep and I'm like NMTB AND FIC?? FUCK YEAH THAT IS ALL I WANT.

This seems unfair somehow.


Incidentally:


Amg amg. I just found this. And. HAHAHAHA. Just. *dies a bit* I kind of want to be Germaine Greer when I grow up now.

I am so frigging tired though.
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The Trip (Rob Bryden and Steve Coogan road trip movie/TV series. It's better than it sounds) gave me my accent again. I sound like I belong in Roysten Vasey. Luckily everyone's in bed, so I don't have to explain to my mother why I sound like I belong in Oasis.

On the other hand, the movie made me feel nostalgic for the Old Country, but then very very sad. Bryden and Coogan have this sort of vitriolic friendship where they're constantly having a go, but they've known each other for eleven years and know each other back to front. I was watching this:



Which is basically me and my RL bestie: I'm usually the one trying to hop across on the stepping stones, though sometimes we switch, for fun. And then I thought: I guess after February we won't get to to be rude to each other, or eat lunch together, or judge each other or giggle and drink tea or get drunk together and have late-night tea. And it's like. I'll miss that. I never really thought about it, but I really will. England's a big deal for me, but I keep thinking about how I'm not going to sing crap music in her car going to uni on cold mornings, or order massive amounts of fast-food to start a hangover day. And yeah. I dunno. I'm weird at the moment. Probably it's going to be fine.
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Title: Snow Business (Five Memories Of Baker Street In The Snow)
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Pairing: Bromance, probably leaning towards asexual!Sherlock/John
Rating: G
Word Count: Pass. About 1500, I should think.
Summary: In honour of the snow in NZ, I wrote five drabble-ish ficlets about the snow in Baker Street, based off the premise that Sherlock actually quite likes the snow.
Notes/Warnings: Shameless shameless schmoop. Many thanks to [livejournal.com profile] oxfordtweed for the late-night beta.

One day in December... )
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Okay so I'm just hitting a stink time known as 'Two weeks before the big deadline'.
Has anyone got David Tennant/Matt Smith/Benedict Cumberbatch desktops they'd like to share?
I think my desktop is like 1280x800.
Anything is good!
Cookies to those who do.
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So really, I can't remember which lovely peep on #bakerstreet got me onto this, but! basically I have been listening to My Boy Builds Coffins by Florence and the Machine forever, and I have most of you friended here, so it might get at least one of you.

I found this.

(Goes to YouTube)

Also I found my old ff.net account. Oh god. *cringegiggleded*
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So, I have like two knitting projects, Holmestice, prompts to fill and an assignment, but you know what?
I really want to write letters.
So. PM me your address, and I will think of something exciting to write to you, and send it to you.
Simples.
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Hey guys.
Finally got onto a computer with sufficient internet.
For those of you who don't know, I am basically about five kilometres from this. (BBC Website)
So there you go. I am fine, as are my family and friends, I got very lucky. Others didn't. So it goes.

Rockin and rollin )

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