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Hi, I’m April. My tumblr game is old as balls. I’m a menace. var sc_project=9360824; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_security="a06f04e4"; var scJsHost = (("https:" == document.location.protocol) ? "https://secure." : "http://www."); document.write("");

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    martin being so, so serious when they shoot the first johnlock kiss, and ben being all jittery and giggly and breaking character when martin accidentally bites his lip, and martin in character as john SUSHING HIM and telling him what part of the KISSING SCENE to start from akshdgf;ldgsfa;lkfgdsfa

    Let’s start again. From the part where I put my tongue in your mouth.

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    Velvet and Bone (38589 words) by Mildredandbobbin [AO3]:


    Wishing all my tumblr friends a very Merry Christmas, if you celebrate, and happy holidays and nothing but the very best in 2015. Thank you for all your love, friendship and amazing creations this year. Lots of love M&B

    Please have a very fawnlocky Christmas [excerpt from chapter 7 of Velvet and Bone: read the whole chapter here]. Fawnlock is the creation of the lovely bennyslegs. Thanks and love to my beta Tsylvestris.


    John’s surprised to realise it’s nearly Christmas when he comes into the clinic one morning and sees that Soo Lin (who, thank God, is continuing her studies online and has decided to stay) has decorated the practice in tinsel and glittery ornaments. Soon Christmas cards start to arrive and he’s prompted with seasonal greetings from every second patient. It’s impossible to ignore. Molly’s shop too is bedecked in festive cheer.

    He looks around the lodge, positively spartan in comparison. It’s not the Christmas he shared with Mary this time last year, it’s not the one he imagined for this year either. It should include a hasty attempt at decorations; a tiny red Santa’s hat inscribed with ‘Baby’s first Christmas’; him and Mary, tired but happy; and a little squawling newborn oblivious to it all. But that’s not going to happen, never will happen. He can’t keep mourning what never will be.

    On the 23rd, when he’s in Molly’s shop, he picks up a packet of tinsel and another of garish baubles. When he gets home, he cuts a small branch from one of the pine trees on the estate and finds a sprig of holly as well. He sets up the tree in a small bucket in the sitting room, and decorates it with the tinsel and baubles as best he can. He drapes the rest on the mantelpiece, topped by the holly. He pours himself a glass of whisky and sits down, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the festive cheer he’s managed to muster. When Sherlock arrives he stands in the doorway and stares.

    “Why do you have a tree branch inside your house?”

    “It’s a Christmas tree,” says John. “You’ve never seen a Christmas tree?”

    “Christmas?” demands Sherlock as if the word tastes bad. He strides over to the tree and studies it, picking up one of the baubles and smelling it first, then darting out the tip of his pink tongue to taste it.

    “Oi! Don’t eat it. You’re supposed to look at it; it’s a Christmas decoration, for Christmas. A festival.”


    “A religious holiday, sort of, bit more secular now. Day after tomorrow. You’ve really never heard of Christmas? Mrs Hudson never mentioned? Mike and Jenny?”

    Sherlock waves the idea away. “Possibly. Meaningless human event. Why is there holly above your fireplace?”

    John shrugs. “Tradition.”

    He prowls to the mantelpiece and cautiously sniffs at the tinsel John draped there, jerking back with a start as it tickles his sensitive nose. Blinking and twitching his ears, he leans back in to peer at the sparkly decoration. John can’t help the fond smile that tugs at his lips. He’s never really thought of Sherlock as ‘adorable’ before but now it’s the only word he can use to describe the curious, bemused expression on his face as he investigates John’s Christmas display.

    “What else does this ‘Christmas’ involve?” Sherlock huffs as he glares at a bauble.

    John shrugs. “Presents, carols — Christmas songs, church, the Nativity, lights, gingerbread, old men pretending to be Santa Claus, Christmas specials on telly, enormous dinners with family you’d never normally see, let alone spend a whole day with. It’s commercial and overrated and—“ he shrugs again. “It’s fun. I don’t know. I just wanted to enjoy something again.”

    Sherlock’s inscrutable gaze sweeps over his face, then he sniffs, grabs John’s drink from his hand and lifts it to his nose before thrusting it away with a grimace. “That’s fermented.”

    John laughs and takes back his glass. “It’s nicely aged whisky from Speyside, thank you very much. Should be eggnog or port, but this will do nicely.”

    Sherlock takes the glass back and sniffs it again, then cautiously lifts it, taking the smallest sip. He pulls a face. “Terrible,” he declares and returns the glass.

    “All the more for me,” says John and savours a mouthful.

    Sherlock gives a derisive snort. “You said there were songs?”

    John finds his one and only Christmas CD. Sherlock stalks around the living room through the first song and then flops down on his chair and listens. John watches him, caught by the parade of emotions that flicker over his expression as the songs change, ranging from rapt attention to a moue of distaste.

    John sips his whisky and something unbends in his chest, unwraps and unfolds. The fire crackles, a voice croons about the little town of Bethlehem, and Sherlock is here with him. It’s okay and it will be okay.

    When the CD finally stops, Sherlock blinks, looking as if he’s just awoken, he springs to his feet, and with a swirl of coat he’s opened the door before John has a chance to say something.

    “Goodnight, John,” he says, fixing his scarf.

    “Oh, right—“ John puts down his glass but Sherlock’s already gone, the door shutting behind him with a click.

    On the way to work the next morning, John pops into Molly’s store and buys a number of overpriced boxes of chocolates. He finds an amusing-looking deerstalker hat that he buys for Sherlock to keep those long ears of his warm.

    He enters the surgery feeling surprisingly full of good cheer. He gives Soo Lin one of the boxes of chocolates and receives a beautifully wrapped gift in return. He’s touched and is glad he thought of the chocolates. He saves the gift to open on Christmas morning.

    He gives the second box of chocolates to Mrs Hudson and another to Mrs Turner at the carol service at church. He sees Mrs Hudson home afterwards and stays for Christmas mince pies and a tipple.

    He’s tempted to pop into the stables and see Sherlock but feels ridiculously sentimental and decides he’ll call on him Christmas morning instead.

    As walks up the path to the lodge’s patio, Sherlock slips from the shadows. John quickly tucks away his rush of pleasure, and lets them both inside. He stirs up the fire again while Sherlock hovers in the corner as if he’s waiting for something.

    “Tea?” John asks.

    He shakes his head no, lips pressed together, an air of tension about his person. “I…” he frowns, still in his coat and scarf. “Sit.”

    John raises his brows but obeys. Sherlock nods, still looking on edge. He draws his panpipes from his coat and, with a curiously self-conscious huff of breath, brings them to his lips.

    He plays. He plays Christmas song after Christmas song, and it’s the most beautiful, haunting music John has ever heard. He sits, heart pounding and breath caught, pinned by Sherlock’s gaze, unable to look away, enraptured by the music Sherlock weaves. It’s aching and elegant and Sherlock has done this, learned this, for him.

    The last note of “Silent Night” hangs in the air between them and then Sherlock lowers his pipes, green-blue eyes still fixed on John’s. “You said presents,” he says carefully. “That was— A present. For you.”

    John is worried he might cry for a moment, he swallows around the tightness in his throat. “It was perfect, absolutely amazing. Thank you, I think that’s probably the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever given me.”

    Sherlock flushes and breaks eye contact, looking away. John can’t bear it anymore and is up out of his chair and closing the distance between them before he can think about it. He pulls Sherlock to him, arms tight about him, and clings to him, face buried in his scarf. Sherlock stands stiff and surprised for a moment but then slowly, cautiously returns John’s hug, resting his cheek against his head. He’s warm and whole and real and it’s been so long since John’s hugged anybody at all, far too long since he’s held Sherlock. They stand there for a long moment and then John remembers himself, and draws back, clearing his throat.

    “I’ve a present for you too,” he says. “Nothing as good as that—“ He pulls the unwrapped deerstalker from the plastic shopping bag it came in and hands it to him.

    Sherlock looks at the hat, then at John. He looks at the hat again, turning it this way and that.

    “It’s a hat,” John explains, miming putting it on his head. “To keep your ears warm.” He’s a bit embarrassed by his gift now, to be honest, given all Sherlock’s unexpected thoughtfulness and effort. “Sorry, it was supposed to be funny, and practical.”

    Sherlock frowns at the flaps. “An ear-hat?” He punches the crown of it, then pulls it on his head, and it actually looks all right with his coat and scarf.

    “Not bad,” John tells him.

    Sherlock stalks over to the hall mirror and glares at himself. He turns, posing a little, which makes John grin. He meets John’s eyes in the mirror and a small smile forms on his lips. “Thank you, John.”

    John smiles crookedly in return. “Well, I hope it keeps you warm.”

    Sherlock is about to say something, but then changes his mind, expression shuttering as he quickly looks away. The distance between them is suddenly, achingly apparent and John longs for what they once had.

    Then Sherlock takes off the hat and turns to face him. “Mrs Hudson says that sharing food and drink is customary.”

    John laughs, out of relief more than anything. He makes tea, brings out the second fruitcake courtesy of Mrs Turner, and turns the telly on, finding a carol performance.

    “Not as good as yours,” he says, sitting back down on the armchair.

    Sherlock gives a noncommittal grunt but seems pleased.

    John dozes off in his chair and when he wakes Sherlock and his ear-hat have gone.

    He opens Soo Lin’s present: it’s one of her hand-painted tea sets. It’s elegant and masculine in styel, and he’s rather touched by the care and skill that must have gone into the gift. He uses it to make his Christmas morning cup of tea. Then he calls Harry, who swears at him a lot but is very glad to hear from him all the same and extracts a promise of a visit in the new year. He hovers around the house for a while, then pulls on his boots and coat, packs a basket of faun-approved treats, and takes a walk up to the stables.

    Sherlock opens the door wearing the deerstalker. John is delighted; it’s in his top ten best things to happen at Christmas. The stable is cold, but he finds he doesn’t really want to leave, and maybe Sherlock isn’t adverse to his company either because he inclines his head towards the door. “Walk?”

    They spend a good few hours rambling around the estate and it’s… it’s good. As far as Christmases go, John’s had far, far worse. He returns to the lodge feeling light and surprisingly happy.

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  • 12/19/14--20:12: I love him 5ever.

  • I love him 5ever.

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    who i gotta pay to make this happen

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    Writing Tips  #24: How to Write a Scene

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  • 12/20/14--08:01: neil-gaiman: Bloody hell.

  • neil-gaiman:

    Bloody hell.

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    Sir Ian McKellen is a gift to humanity.

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    So I managed to attend the session. It was jam packed. I think I was being held in place by shear number of people instead of gravity. There’s not much to report but here are some things that I managed to retain (as opposed to my phone which should have been doing the retaining but died horrible deaths. Yes plural.)

    To me, the only questions that were of interest were just two. One of them was, “When Sherlock killed Magnussen, was it the first time he killed anyone?” Mark’s reply was, “Yes.” There’s a potential for confusion though. Mark sought clarification after saying yes, and maybe the asker was talking about Sherlock Holmes in general instead of BBC Sherlock? But his first yes indicates to me that at least Mark was talking about their Sherlock.

    Another question of interest was about “The Other One”. The asker phrased it quite directly, “What can you tell about the third Holmes brother?” Mark just said, “There’s no third brother.” So asker explained what she meant and *then* Mark talked about how last time this question was asked, it turned into a news about Hiddleston being cast as the other one. But again, before being funny, he was rather honest about there not being a third brother. Still there’s a potential for confusion regarding whether he was thinking of canon or their verse.

    Many MANY of the rest of the questions were…repetitive and at times embarrassing. After opening the interview with a couple of innocuous questions about beginnings of Sherlock, the interviewer jumped feet first into Johnlock. Wow, a six in the very first over, interviewer. Though, his question was, “Being a gay right activist, how do you resist the temptation to show these two as gays?” Mark responded as usual - the jokes, The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes etc. And he went on to insist vehemently that it was not going to happen on this show. He also said that he is aware that there should be shows with good representation of homosexual relationships, but their Sherlock is not going that way. There were shouts of ‘Yea Johnlock!!’ But Mark wasn’t having it.

    There were questions about every ship - Johnlock, Sherlolly, Adlock, Mystrade (!), Mycake (!!! I’m not kidding. Mark was a bit lost). (There was one about kinda Holmecest too? Yeah.)There were questions about Wholock and even Superwholock!! Mark was particularly confused by the last one. When it was explained to him, he was a bit taken aback. His answer was that they are working on a crossover of Sherlock, Dowton Abbey, and Teletubbies (?)!

    There’re other things that I probably should mention, but I tired, and on my (once again resurrected) mobile. So this is it for the time being. Tomorrow there’s another session, this time he’ll be accompanied by Moffat on Skype. So more to come.

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    idris elba’s butt is like classical greek statue level ass 

    like if you dont know what im talking about:




    Maybe I should watch Luther today… Suddenly having a craving

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  • 12/20/14--14:50: Photo

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    "Beaten to death with a farm hoe."

    "That’s amazing.  I’m blown away."

    "You think he deserved it?"

    "Yeah.  I have no doubt."


    "That’s a horrible way to die, Anderson!"
    "He had 12 slaves! I don’t feel bad for him."

    Anderson Cooper is my most non-problematic fave

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  • 12/20/14--14:54: Good Omens - BBC Radio 4
  • Good Omens - BBC Radio 4:


    Spread this link around. It’s the BBC Radio 4 page for Good Omens, a six episode radio series starting on Monday, which you will be able to listen to anywhere in the world for 30 days after broadcast. Yes, anywhere in the world includes America. It really does.

    There’s fun stuff already on the page, just waiting for you…

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    I am not a girl that can ever be defined.

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    Click here to find out where I got everything in this ootd!

    These tights, guys. These. Tights. Thanks so much to for providing these tights for review. They are so fantastic, as is the shop. It’s so great to find such a good shop for plus size tights. Head over there and show em some love, and #treatyoself

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    Mark Gatiss at Mumbai Comic-con:





    So I managed to attend the session. It was jam packed. I think I was being held in place by shear number of people instead of gravity. There’s not much to report but here are some things that I managed to retain (as opposed to my phone which should have…

    Mark was as usual fairly joking about Mystrade. He said it’s not gonna happen but if it’s the question of being in relationship with Rupert Graves, he’s definitely interested! Especially since he said that has had a crush on RG since he waa 15! (I think he said 15.) He askes if anyone has watched Maurice, but I didn’t hear anyone saying yes. Nothing new there. Though, he joked something along the lines of, “Why are you so interested in seeing/imagining a gay relationship?! Do you also imagine Mrs Hudson and Mary together?!”


    Ehhh I don’t. I do imagine Mary/Janine,  Anthea/Molly, and Irene/Molly. Like Mary/Janine getting together would be fuckin brilliant to me. I feel like they are each other’s match in a lot of ways and it would be brilliant. Hell I’m writing a fic about it right now. So no, Mark, it’s not just the dudes that we ship. Though tbh I am not a big Mystrade shipper. I’m far more invested in Mythea as a legit possibility.

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    Holy crap…that is…hot.

    Yeah. Whoa. I’m not usually one for beards, but.

    Whoa is correct. cc: katiecoyle !!!


    I could never get into calling Martin daddy but OMG PEterrrr….I mean…DADDY? Daddy Doctor.

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    today this white girl asked me why my hair is so curly and i said im black and she told me to say african american

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    do you ever find a tumblr user so annoying but everyone loves them so ur just stuck


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  • 12/20/14--20:06: (x)

  • (x)

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  • 12/20/14--20:08: Photo

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