Tatterdemalion Scrawling

This year I have been very good. So here are my three wishes. :)

Chronicles of Chrestomanci:

I would like something gen, maybe about Cat learning to be the next Chrestomanci. Janet must be awesome. Millie must be lovely. Chrestomanci must be elegant, charming and have *fantastic* dressing-gowns. That's literally all I have. :) No porn please, but anything else IC is cool.


Being Human:

I prefer the original trio, but I'll be cool with the new gang too, so whatever you like really. More gen, but also some sweet, non-explicit Mitchell/Annie if you're in the mood. Hal is a complete sweetheart, I wouldn't mind seeing him get some love. Tom should be puppy-like, but not helpless. An AU where Eve got to live and go to primary school might be good. You could explore how her Mum gets around being invisible at Parents' Evening.

Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy:

Ford being an ass and getting everyone into trouble and then Arthur being irritated about it but them ultimately turning out okay. For a given value of okay. Also if you can use 'dance' as euphemistically as they do in canon I will be gleeful.

Lookit the awesome icon oxfordtweed made. Isn't he just all the win? Go play in his comm tweedandtinsel. It's awesome I promise.

So, I guess this was an okay year. The quakes disrupted a lot but I don't really have any regrets. I got to play in the snow, finish my Honours year, and kiss some boys and girls. I wrote and wrote and wrote, as well. No idea how many words, but numerous fic, some of which did very well, some of which didn't. I've even had a bit of a go at original stuff.

I met some glorious new people through fandom, and they all know who they are. Yes, you. You're all fantastic and I am so pleased that I not only met you but you didn't instantly hate me. Whether it's Twitter, Tumblr, or LJ/DW, just talking to you through the internet has been awesome. I got into some new fandoms, which was pretty cool, and started RP-ing, which is great fun.

Next year is the great unknown for me. I'm leaving the shelter of my family and my wibbly little city (and for what it's worth, I do consider it mine, a little) to move to the UK, where I will be on my own for the first time ever. I'm mainly trying not to think about it, since actually thinking about it makes me very sad and scared. But, what can you do.

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 shouldboverthis.)

I watched Full Metal Jacket in the week. Wednesday, in fact.

It's now Saturday, and I still can't get Private Gomer Pyles out of my head. I keep thinking about him being forced to shuffle behind the others with his trousers down, or made to eat the donut.

Just... Fehhh. I wish it would go away.

Am

So

Very

Tired.

Testicles!

Boldly splitting infinitives no man has split before.

In Italy they use italics.

I cannot underline this enough. Because I am a twat.

Fuck this shit.

I am not a rickroll.

Title: Sherlock Holmes' Diary - March

Fandom: Sherlock (BBC), Bridget Jones' Diary

Pairing: Unrequited Sherlock/John

Rating: PG - Language or whatever I suppose.

Word Count: 10,000. Ish.

Summary: Sherlock Holmes keeps a diary. No one is supposed to know about it. He's pretty sure Mycroft does though, the fat nosy git.

Notes/Warnings: This is a fusion for Sherlock and Bridget Jones' Diary so there will be similarities. Many thanks to oxfordtweed for the hand-holding and going through this inch by agonising inch and not killing me and things. But! This is it! Since I'm following canon, I'm going to hang fire on April until the next series. Once again, thanks so much for the everything, I really appreciate it.

ETA Sorry for spamming/messing up flists. D=


January

February

March I

( March 15th. )

Happy birthday 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.

Skype.
I has it.