falling_voices

Research paper for the first semester:

Hitchcock's Rear Window: Perspective and Subjectivity.

Memoir for the master year:

Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew: Text to Screen.

Things I love about being an English major right now:

ALL OF THEM. o/

In other news, this post-Reichenbach!AU I'm trying to finish up has possibly three different timelines and seems to hinge entirely around photography. I'm becoming dreadfully confused. Can't quite count the number of times I've scraped the whole lot and then picked it up again, by now. I just want to tie it all up before S2 starts — after that the AU!dimension'll become more drastic than it already is, and I want to write a John-centric roadtrip after the third episode anyway.

(It doesn't help that TSN fandom hasn't quit being wonderful and I want to write approximately six hundred post-depositions stories.)

eta;

( just found this. hyperventilating now. )

Dear Internet connection: Y U NO WORK. (AGAIN.)

I seem to only update this journal to bemoan my dysfunctional relationship with Technology these days. Rest of the time, considering that my writer's block is reaching heights never before imagined, I've been trying my hand at podfic — apparently my Sherlock voice is ridiculous and very, very posh. A little bit French, too? aw, man, I like it, what can I say.

Speaking of podfic, if you haven't seen it yet, the wonderful

quintenttsy has recorded a fantastic version of anywhere i go, you go. ♥♥♥ do listen to it, she has a lovely voice.

In other news: The Social Network fandom has swallowed me completely, ogod. I'd loved the movie when it came out, and I'd dipped in the fandom briefly last year before Sherlock got its grip upon me, but with the current lull in Sherlock fandom I'm (re-)discovering the incredibly talented authors and stories written around Mark&Eduardo ~~Epic Break-Up~~ ~~tragic friendship~~ no, fuck that, it really is an Epic Break-Up. I don't know if any of you are in that fandom at all, but if you've so much as seen the movie, or if you're into Doctor Who (that's a safer demographic on this journal, I reckon), have a rec:

Place That Don't Know My Name, by

veritasrecords
eduardo-centric, mark/eduardo, amy/rory | 15,300 words | PG-13

"There's a --" Rory says, stammering. "In the neck -- with your hand. Knocks them out. I learned it in med school," he finishes on a mumble.

"Rory Pond," Eduardo goes with fervent amazement. "You are the most kickass person I know."

and its sequel:

Place Between Here And The Destination, by

veritasrecords
mark-centric, mark/eduardo, sean/other!amy, doctor/tardis(?) | 40,000 words | R

"Mark," she greets him, like she does it all the time: Mark isn't entirely unused to this, because the more famous you get, the more magazine articles there are about you and the more movies are made about your life, the more complete strangers come up to you and apparently know everything about you. It never stops being incredibly creepy.

"Sweetie," she says warmly, showing teeth. "You're going to need this, it's psychic," and then she hands him a toilet paper roll.

So much gloriousness, I don't even — just. Read them. Yeah.

Shamelessly stolen from

fuyu_no_fuhei: Posting the names of all the files in my Sherlock WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Choose one (or a few, I don't care), and I will post a random line or two.

In no particular order of completion, importance, or capitalization:

The Light Discontinued
Our Hugest Home
writer!john
Derringer Sky; android!sherlock
Somewhere From Mars
there's propaganda for you
the grand tour of europe
the Heart!verse (cardiac surgery)
John.txt
angst-ridden pre-reichenbach epic
dust off your converse (time to see the universe) (who!crossover)
TONC!deleted scenes
ETA, I forgot: TTSSish spy!au.

... most of which are both non-descriptive and ridiculous. FML. Or my brain. Or my love for exclamation marks.

(Am now hunting down Downton Abbey season the second (which is apparently nowhere so far), fald;kalskal;sfa OH YOU BEAUTIFUL IDIOTS.)

Things this week shall be remembered by:

uni administration what are you doing why am I taking Swedish (actually, Swedish is quite good, but I wanted German, damnit.)
internet connection. What, what, what are you doing.
I seem to have fallen hopelessly in love with Downton Abbey.

I'll have to finish the first season before I actually review it more thoroughly, but right now I'm just flailing over Titanic and costumes and Belle Epoque and Maggie Smith and shiny things everywhere. Also, Matthew Crawley.

(Alsoalso, the music.)

errantcomment has just updated Sherlock Holmes' Diary. Read it. LOL at it. It is every bit as glorious as the first installment.

2. ooh look, fic! which isn't strictly new; it was originally a fill on the Sherlock fic!meme back in August, and then I all but forgot about it altogether (because vacation and England and uni and reasons). I've rediscovered it recently, and reworked it slightly. The concept of Sherlock literally stealing hearts to replace his own still makes me grin rather foolishly.

anywhere i go, you go
Sherlock/John.
2148 words.
R. Warning for slight vore at the end — entirely consensual, and at least half metaphorical by this point, idk.
Sherlock belongs to the Beeb, Moffat, and Gatiss; originally ACD's; I make no money with this and mean no copyright infringement.
Written for this prompt: Sherlock doesn't have a heart of his own, so he steals others' for a while and then gives them back so the person keeps living. When John notices, he gives Sherlock his heart. And the heart grows.

notes:

ningen_demonai is utterly insane, and has been trying to rationalize the fuck out of this universe, while I was mostly doing jazz hands and going METAPHOR at everything. Now I half want to continue this 'verse and have Sherlock&John get cardiac surgery together. Also, awake. (Fuck you, I have stuff to do!) The title is taken from e. e. cummings' poem 'i carry your heart with me', which is a stunning lack of originality on my part but just fit the prompt too well to pass.

notes2:

quintenttsy has recorded a beautiful podfic of this. ♥

( the first time sherlock finds john's heart, it is two in the morning. )

Someone force me to write this thing.

Before I throw my desk out the window. I have thought up so many plot points and character motivations and secret detective agencies in the heart of London of all things bloody hell — in the last two days that my head is very much about to explode.

(Um, also: I've watched The God Complex, but the review shouldn't be up until tomorrow or the day after that, due to difficulties in conquering the wifi connection. It won't connect! WHY DON'T YOU CONNECT ANYMORE.)

I've been off to Belgium for the last few days, which was lovely but exhausting as hell — so was the mad run for my train two minutes before departure, really — and somehow I've managed to bring back nothing but Belgian marzipan, which doesn't seem much different from French marzipan, and Mark Gatiss' The Vesuvius Club, which looks incredibly cliché but enormous fun, and also very very gay.

It's been a bit of a last haven for me, this half vacation, since uni starts up again this week — I have to meet with my (hopefully) potential study director over my master thesis tomorrow morning; the Granada!SH study, that. I have absolutely no idea how it'll go down, as Doyle's not much for Classics. Then again, Sherlockian theses are all over the place.

So now I'm going to huddle in my bed and watch The Girl Who Waited, which I've missed, and catch up on the Sherlock ficmeme and nibble marzipan, and try to keep these precious few hours I've got left before uni strikes down again. Social awkwardness, what is that.

Current Mood: tired

Dear London/London weather/London people/London keyboards,

FQMKDLAKSAL;SKA;KA;LDKSA;FMKSA;KS

Love/Hate/I don`t even fucking know,

Me.

getting to watch doctor who directly on telly is going to be so worth it, though.

Oh hey, guys, I'm abandoning

nuitdenovembre, for now at least. There isn't any actual, logical reason — it just feels redundant and unnecessary, and I rarely ever log in there. Whatever fic there'll be in the future will be posted here again, etc.

Anyway. ToNC, coming your way.

The Theory Of Narrative Causality
sherlock/john.
nc-17. porn. no specific warnings.
sherlock belongs to the beeb, moffat, and gatiss; originally acd's; I make no money and mean no copyright infringement.
written for this prompt: Sherlock and John are BNFs in Sherlock Holmes fandom. Together, they fight crime. (Always.) And write porn, incidentally.

( notes; links )

I have just had the strangest street meeting in my life.

Random Guy Handing People Flyers: Hi! Do you hate the suburbs?
Me: What?
Random Guy Handing People More Flyers: Do you have a boyfriend?
Me: What?
awkward pause.
Random Guy Reaching Into His Satchel: Do you think all the people living in the suburbs of Paris are dangerous young thugs who come and set fire to your car in the night?
Me: Er. No?

And then he gave me an erotic book and told me to read it with my (completely hypothetical) boyfriend.

It's mostly sentimental French claptrap about what women like and what men like with horribly tacky salacious puns and little notes like Just remember to make your partner feel good during sex! I'd never have guessed, guys.

Sometimes I'm very thankful to fandom for teaching me more about sex positivity than real life ever managed to.

Also: if all goes well and

misha0529 gets back to me, the final, coded version of ToNC should go up tomorrow. Starting from Monday onwards, though, I'm leaving in vacation, so my access to LJ/the Internet will be very (very, very) limited; if I'm not leaving comments or updating this journal for a long time, that'll be why.

Current Music: These Boots Are Made For Walking — Velvet 99

Right, so. I have:

finished my finals;
gone to the Sherlock meet-up;
and slept for three days straight.

Because, dear god, I needed it.

Alllllso, I have now had the confirmation that I start up work at a publishing company on Monday, which is... slightly more terrifying than a zombie apocalyspe.

How am I going to survive this. (By doing this Sherlock Voice Meme, I expect, once I've figured out how to make a voice post.)

Oh, and hey, a Sherlock rec, because it's been a while since I did those: "that afternoon, there was only you", by

glittertrees, is absolutely gorgeous. Just sayin'. (J/S, teenage!AU, beautiful, beautiful writing.)

Current Mood: stressed

Query: should I first write the BBC!version of Derringer Sky, or this one actor!Sherlock playing Shakespeare story concept that's been spinning round my head these last few days?

Or just

sort of

mesh up the two together

because android!Sherlock quoting Shakespeare might be strangely fantastical. Mm.

ALSO. KAT WROTE THE MOST WONDERFUL ARSENE LUPIN/ELLERY QUEEN TONC-SMASH AND IT IS ALL THE AMAZING. ilu, bb. ♥

Re: more ToNC;

ssarah_s has been created, and will probably start friending/posting tomorrow or the day after; I'm thinking of having her on a semi-hiatus for a while, due to uni, which will probably translate to her having a hell of a lot of surgery-related work and not being able to be around much (timezones, timezones, timezones). Still wondering what the procedure is, about that. Headcanon post?

The final deanon is delayed for a bit, mostly because

misha0529 is currently doing an absolutely amazing job at formatting the whole thing into actual LJ entries and gmail chats, and then I'll take over with more links and some edition. It might take a while, but it'll get done.

In vaguely related news (i.e., in SH-related news, because this is my life right now): I've been watching Granada!verse's Wisteria Lodge yesterday, and now I half want to do a lit!essay of the episode; it's rather amazing in terms of mirrors, windows and dual identity between the characters, and god, I want to so badly. I've spent half the year working on filmic adaptations of literary works, and so much symbolism is the perfect sort of beckon. Oh, I am tempted. I am so very tempted.

Current Location: London Girls — Tori Amos

You know you've spent too much time in Sherlock Holmes fandom when you're writing a paper on Jan Smuts and all you keep writing is Jam Smut.

Especially when your civilization teacher loves the BBC shows and knows all about fandom.

This was a bit FAILy, self.

Re: Doctor Who.

( spoilers. )

Current Mood: awake

Oh my god, there's podfic now. Mildly agonizing over the keyboard, ahh.

This has been one hell of a rollercoaster. It's funny how my life online is generally wonderful, and RL is intensely stressful and chaotic, these days — still, no more Sherlock-related writer's block, which is very, very satisfying.

(For those who, well, don't frequent the Sherlock ficmeme, I've written meta!fic. And then it sort of became a 'verse, and there was fic o' fic o' fic. Yes.)

I think I've friended everyone back; so, ah, hello, all of you. I'm a little freaked out by all of this, as well as by

holmeschat and all the related journals, but it's fairly lovely. And flabbergasting. Mostly flabbergasting. (And I keep finding myself thinking I want to write jumperfucker /consulting_detective RPF! and then going oh, hold on. I already have. Damn.)

... and then I came across this, and now I actually want to write Derringer Sky. IDEK. My finals begin on Monday, fic has Do Not Write cerulean blue post-it notes on it.

Also, I've re-watched Shoscombe Old Place yesterday night, in a last-ditch attempt to calm my nerves down after a long day of Thomas Hardy and Shakespeare, and came to the final conclusion that whoever is filming that Tintin movie is going about it the wrong way. They ought to have stolen the TARDIS, gone back to 1991, and borrowed young!Jude Law for a few months. He'd fit the job perfectly.

/still giggling over this. There's fic right there — real!Holmes&Watson die unexpectedly, and Joe Barnes and a friend of his decide to take up their legacy by taking up their name and rooms a few years later. Hence the discrepancies between ACD!Holmes and Ritchie!Holmes. SERIOUSLY, IT MAKES A LOT OF SENSE.

Okay.

What just happened?

(This relates to everything. In my life. Right now.)

Current Mood: indescribable

THERE ARE NO WORDS.

ALL THE WORDS ARE GONE.

invisible astronauts in the white house. (shut up, shut up, this is absolutely happening.)

Current Mood: giddy

Finals: ACED. Fucking yes. Excuse my French. Also:

1. I have a new laptop! it's all… there, pretty and shiny and smiling at me from my desk. I shall attempt not to break it within the first week.

2. re: The King's Speech. It was excellent. Overall well-played, well-researched, very charming and emotional, though maybe somewhat too predictable. But it was extremely well-written, sometimes touching and sometimes hilarious, and, as such, it didn't matter so much if the pace was sometimes getting lengthy. In the end, though, it didn't have much of a movie feeling but rather more of being right there with them seeing it happen; not so much in the way of a documentary, because the general mood and colours play made it quite clear it was at least partly fictional, but it could have been an artistic documentary played by famous actors, which I suppose in a way it was. I was especially charmed by the play on textures and nuances, the clean lines, the outfits — it had something so very British, all the clubs and costumes and beautiful accents ♥

3. ( a brief scene at the local library, occurred yesterday afternoon )

4. I am writing! Gods. Yes. That feels good.

Current Music: The Aspidistra Files — Stars

Admittedly, it was pretty stupid of me to look out the window yesterday morning and go 'oh, yesterday's snow has melted, surely it won't snow again today!' and put on high heeled boots. Yes, okay, I admit it, it was stupid. Especially considering the amount of snow that fell from 10 a.m. onwards. The most ridiculous thing, though, was probably that I managed to keep on my feet for the entire duration of the walk home — the wet, slippery walk home — only to tumble arse over head around the corner of my own street.

But that was also the day when my History of the English Language teacher went — 'no, no, that's the Old English word for was, not for booth, there weren't any telephone booths in England in the 800s — well, unless the Doctor happened to be around, but —' so, all in all, not a bad day. (So right, I probably was the one who understood that little bit. Didn't stop me from grinning like a fool for the rest of the class, though.)

That said.

( waistcoats and iced tea and eyeglasses, oh my! )

Current Mood: jubilant
Current Music: Ma Plus Belle Histoire D'Amour (C'est Vous) — Barbara

I HAVE HAD A HAIRCUT.

This in itself is nothing amazing — but it's been ten years since I've had short hair. It's been long enough to reach halfway down my back for so long that the change is both fresh and very, very disturbing. Then again, short&disorganised works pretty well, too. I guess I'll just have to rough down the cold on my neck in the morning, and get the alpaga scarf out of the cupboard.

To sort-of-celebrate this, I've gone and chucked everything I've been writing recenty — well, for the time being, anyhow — and that means everything: the apocalypse!fic and the 16,000-words FrUK kinkmeme fill and the Sherlock/THE INTERWEBS crackish thing and the KA Christmas special for Sa' (blame her. She told me to.) — and begun a completely out-of-the-blue Sherlock/John-ish first meeting!AU. Of sorts. It's got mediums. In cheesecloth.

I've written about 1,500 words of this in one day, which is... good news for my writer's block aaaaaand bad news for uni. How am I supposed to focus on American civilisation when I've got pretty shiny boys to play with? Here, have a first page. Ish.

Also, I have discovered two things: 1) I need more Sherlock icons, and 2) I'm probably going to need a Sherlock beta.

That said, the promised reclist should come up either tomorrow or on Thursday — Wednesday will be a horrible day except in the evening, hopefully, but booked all round. I'm making no promises, but I'm nearly done with it anyway.

♥

Current Mood: amused
Current Music: Space Travel — candle_beck

It’s taken me a few months but I think I’ve finally learnt my lesson:

Never, ever show anything of particular interest (to me, anyway) to my parents. If they don’t like it, they’re just going to spoil it. Every. Single. Time.

The one particular sentence I can’t stand is the ‘I really, really don’t want to imply that it isn’t good, but I really, really can’t understand how you can like this movie/book/TV show/song/poet‘ argument. It’s hypocritical and taking me for a fool and I want to bury it in some remote little corner and never let them use it again.

Especially when it’s about a TV show, because everybody knows TV shows aren’t art, and god forbid I should be so ridiculously excited about anything that isn’t art. Lordy. I’ll be sure to remember that from now on — it wouldn’t do to step over the outskirts of what I can and can't like, after all.

Protip, parents mine: I. Don’t. Give. A. Fuck.

Current Mood: irritated
Current Music: Padam... Padam... — Edith Piaf

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Entries tagged with ahahah what am i doing here

so, about this university place;

it's just started raining.

le wip meme.

what is a 'weekend'?

[fic] anywhere i go, you go; sherlock/john

i shall strangle writer's block someday

also i am very tired just so you know

parisian girl drowned in london rain.

the theory of narrative causality – master post

these things just happen to me.

this is zombie!me

turning.

i rather wish it were saturday, now.

explosions. in my head.

still in shock.

stylish epic(ness); or, why sara sometimes goes a little wild

bunch o' news

first tumble in the snow of the year: check.

mirror images are no longer certifiable.

family togetherness, my ass.