I'd rather be in outer space šø
$LAYYYTER

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tannertan36

ē„ę„ / Permanent Vacation
art blog(derogatory)
almost home
will byers stan first human second

Andulka

Discoholic šŖ©
noise dept.
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda

Origami Around

Product Placement
hello vonnie

pixel skylines

Kaledo Art
Aqua Utopiaļ½ęµ·ć®åŗć§čØę¶ćē“”ć
Claire Keane
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@butterflygrl62

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Drunk posting
need to sleep. have to leave for work at 10 pm. currently 2 pm. cats are asleep. Maybe I can convince them to join me in bed so I'll sleep better.
Tax The Billionaires
I wish I could get rid of the underboob sweat. No matter what I try - antiperspirant, powder, linen towels, nada. Still moist and itchy. Even with Anti monkey butt powder which has calamine to soothe the itch. Right now, I'm trying a cold washcloth before I go to sleep. And I'm drunk enough to hopefully not notice the annoyance.
Sherlock moving out of 221B Baker Street much earlier than anticipated before retirement because Watson can't get up the stairs like before.
In this essay I will...
#grabs popcorn#nodding head#.... go on ...
Right so,
It began during winter when Watson would feel an extra strain on his leg when walking up and down the long wooden stairs inside of 221B, It wasn't painful per se but it was something quite irritating to him.
Days go by and he would feel it when they would step up into the carriage, climb through a window or run after a perp. Watson ignored it of course, he was a doctor, he knew it was just the body once again falling to the seasonal frost of winter. It was nothing worth noting at all.
Sherlock would notice it when one morning he heard Watson coming down the stairs.
"Good morning Watson" How strange why is he taking his time coming down?
A grunt was heard just before the last few steps. There was a sharp intake of breath, a slap onto the wooden barrier before a heavy thud of slippers sounded at the floor. Watson appeared seconds later at complete ease as if nothing had happened.
"Good morning Holmes"
Watson sat down to eat the simple breakfast of toast and eggs and the morning tea Mrs Hudson had brought in. A few beats of silence passed before Sherlock lowered his mug,
"Are you alright?"
Watson raised his eyes over his own mug with a stiff expression,
"Of course I am, why are you asking that?"
Sherlock didn't need to deduce that this was something Watson didn't want to discuss so he waved it off to enjoy their morning together.
It didn't seem to a topic needing to be discussed until it became a regular occurrence. Stepping onto a carriage and chasing after perps which used to be done with ease seemed to be difficult to execute as of late. He was sore, stiff and exerting more strength than usual which fed him into an unending temper. Sherlock had wanted to breach the topic more than once however one wicked glare sealed his lips shut of it.
Watson had been horribly embarassed when one time he struggled to climb the steep stairs at the opera. He could feel the strain in his thigh and hip which not even his cane could relieve. Sherlock had offered his arm but he declined, he could get up the stairs just fine but unfortunately it seemed his leg decided just at the moment to disagree as it gave out. Sherlock, as well as a young lady who was close by, had put their arm out to catch him.
"Watson!"
"My goodness sir, are you alright?"
'I'M FINE!"
The young lady watched in shock as the man she had just helped from falling had walked off in a puff. Sherlock turned to her to apologised on Watson's behalf, she had simply shook her head with an understanding smile. Catching up to their box seats Sherlock sat down next to Watson where they watched in silence for the rest of the show. When the show finished, Sherlock had grabbed some snacks from a vendor and passed it to Watson with a smile. Watson felt guilt eat at him. Upon returning home Watson profusely apologised to Sherlock, he was ashamed that his temper had taken the best of him.
'No more of it Watson, all is well'
Having put it behind them, they had a fulfilling dinner. Sherlock and Watson both gone off to do their own nightly activities before bed. After some time of playing his violin to the music he had heard in the opera, Sherlock had bid goodnight to Watson.
He had gone upstairs undressing, taking a quick bath and then tucked himself into bed before realising he hadn't heard Watson come up the stairs at all.
"Watson? Are you not coming to bed?"
...
With no response, Sherlock reluctantly untucked himself from his cosy bed being careful to make his way through the darkness of his room. He had opened his door to see the downstairs lights still on but no sign of Watson.
Watson couldn't get up the stairs. He couldn't get to the stairs. He couldn't even get up from his armchair.
He had bid Sherlock goodnight with the intent to finish reading the newest medical textbook published about disorders of the mind when midway his leg decided to have pain shooting from hip to foot. The pain did not cease and had became so unbearable he could not stand to place the book back onto the shelf, he resorted to chucking the book onto the table. Massaging his leg he sat in his misery on the armchair, Watson had resigned himself to sleep the night on it. He didn't acknowledge Sherlock when he came downstairs later.
"Oh Watson...come here, lets get you more comfortable"
He stood besides the armchair putting Watson's arm over his shoulder with one hand on his waist, he helped Watson up and they took little steps towards the couch just across. It was a slow and painful move as they had to stop every 2nd or so step as Watson would take a sharp intake of breath, gritting his teeth to bear the pain. After finally sitting down on the couch, Watson watched as Sherlock left to seemingly get the blankets and pillows from upstairs.
He began to sob. Even with his limp and scarred shoulder, Watson could take their stairs and the steps of carriages with ease. He could climb through windows and chase down perps. He could accompany Sherlock to everywhere and be sent wherever he needed to be. Now he couldn't even get to the stairs to go to bed. No matter what he thought he could not find any retrieve in the future. His mind began to turn on him as it whispered to him that Sherlock would perhaps tire of him, not wanting to take care of a invalid, that maybe he would even leave him.
He knew his mind was being irrational and seeking dread but he could not help but remember his outburst towards Sherlock and the poor girl at the opera who knew nothing of his troubles.
If not my crippling body, it would be my mind that runs him off...
Sherlock grabbed Watson's night clothes and their blanket and pillows. He could hear sobbing from downstairs which clenched his heart and made his blood race. He hurried down throwing the pillow down and blanket over the back of the couch as he helped Watson into his night clothes. He took a damp tea towel from the kitchen, handing it to Watson who used it to wipe his face. Sherlock turned the lights off and with only a glimpse of the moon's lights peaking through the room, he went to lay down on the couch first. He moved his legs behind Watson and stared until he turned his head to look back at his open arms.
They stared at eachother in silent agreement as the conversation they both knew they were not touching on would be for tomorrow's them. He tiredly dropped into Sherlock's welcoming arms where he turned his face into the crook of the slender neck taking deep breaths. Sherlock tightened his arms around for a beat then moved his hand to stroke up and down Watson's back, he kept at it until he could feel the tense muscles relax and breathing soften.
He laid beneath Watson and stared at the ceiling of their home as his mind slowed from its racing thoughts coming to a decision. Sherlock would visit DI Lestrade's office first thing in the morning to let him know that he will no longer be available for consulting services for the time being. Then he will send a wire to his elder brother Mycroft to inform him that he will need the pair of keys to that cottage much, much sooner than he planned for.

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Ride On's fifth anniversary:
fandom (trumps hate) love post
art by @johix
5 years ago today I started posting Ride On (10/10 ch.; 39k words).
It was my second Fandom Trumps Hate fic for Anyawen, whose prompt was precise enough to inspire me and fluid enough to let me to head straight for the land of Self-Indulgently Including Everything I Ever Wanted in BBC Sherlock Plus 20 Of My Favorite Songs So There.
@anyawen, most creative and generous of humans, also betaāed the story as it was emerging from my fevered brain, or rather, from the space between our two fevered brains.
Podfixx started making the [Podfic] Ride On around Ch. 5, or perhaps had recorded 5 chapters before mentioning it to me, aware that Iād want a @podfixx treatment on ANYTHING I ever wrote including my least successful job application letter ever. I havenāt read Ride On since I posted it, but have lost count of the times Iāve listened to the podfic, which is infinitely better.
In Praise of "Ride On" by @k2ntwo is a paean to the fic and to the podfic, and periodically I clutch it to my heart.
The Cover for Ride On by @bluebellofbakerstreet makes me squee every time I see it and I bet I'm not alone; @johix's art takes us to Caherdaniel in the midst of a very public reunion, in Ch. 4.
The comments, oh my dear gods the comments. Readers and listeners and tumblrinas have spoiled me rotten with the comments and bookmarks on Ride On. It's the story (of mine) readers have kudos'd most; their interaction with it has often restored my flagging spirits in the truly grim timeline weāre inhabiting.
I wrote two epilogues to Ride On (chapters 9 and 10), and a final epilogue (Ch. 11), set in a retirementlock decade, is in the drafts folder. Letās just say that no one will be surprised at where itās set.
TLDR: no fic is an island; it takes a fandom; no fic of mine is ever finished; and I donāt have words to thank those whoāve loved this story. Also: thanks for reblogging!
art by @bluebellofbakerstreet
The Narrow Ridge
Guess what??? I finished the hiking fic!!!! As predicted, it's clocked in just above 35,000 words!
Title: The Narrow Ridge
Pairing: Sherlock/John (Sherlock POV)
Rating/Length: Explicit, 35,777 words (single chapter format)
Summary:
Mycroft sits down. āThere may have been a murder,ā he says. āPossibly even two.ā
Sherlock bores his eyes into Mycroftās face. āThere are murders all the time. Why canāt the Yard handle it?ā
āBecause itās in Canada,ā Mycroft informs him.
This catches them both off guard. John leans forward. āIām sorry, what? Canada?ā
Mycroft sends Sherlock and John off to the Canadian Rockies to investigate the disappearances of two hikers, which means having to hike, themselves...
Itās mad, itās gay ⦠Itās The Lusty Month of May, Johnlock-style.
But it's the prostate! by Kalimyre (E) We all know the "but it's the solar system" scene. Well, move it to the bedroom and make it a "but it's the prostate" scene.
Uniform by entanglednow (E) In which Sherlock plays dress-up and John gets distracted.
Conducting Light Through Touch by cwb (E) Sherlock has often said that despite not being a genius, John helps the detective conduct his own intellect. Now that their relationship has become physical, John finds that Sherlock is constantly touching him as they work to solve a case.
Reader Response by redscudery (E) John writes porny limericks on bathroom walls.
Oh No, We Have to Share a Bed I Wonder What Will Happen by janto321 (FaceofMer) (E) What it says on the tin.
Losing My Virginity by ChrisCalledMeSweetie (E) Johnās cock is bigger, Itās thicker than mine, And Iām a bit scared ...
Tags under the cut. Thanks for reblogging!
THE PENGUIN BRIEF a lockout films fan edit by helloliriels
Sherlock Holmes is a brilliant young law student, studying under his professor Victor Trevor (and sharing his bed). But when the shocking thesis he had written winds up missing ... and Victor himself ends up dead by a car bomb; Sherlock goes into hiding. Changing his name and address, and reaching out to the one man Victor had always trusted to print the truth ... news reporter, John Watson.
The latest in my Lockout Films edits! I have finally done it! The Pelican Brief AU edit I've been meaning to do for eons! :D (And no, I do not want to count the LaYeRs this took ... I lost count at 30 ...) Really happy with the final colours.
We know that Facebook is brainscorching your parents and tiktok is brainscorching your cousins, but some of you refuse to admit that you got your brain scorched here. However unlike those sites there isn't an algorithm here you just make bad choices.
That's all we ever wanted. To arrive at Hell as a result of our own dubious navigation skills instead of as the result of Satan owning all the road sign companies.
"To arrive at Hell as a result of our own dubious navigation skills instead of as the result of Satan owning all the road sign companies."
This is my favorite quote of today.

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The Federalist Society and Heritage Foundation picked the worst activist lawyers to legislate [from the bench] the most partial opinions to unravel the hard fought righteous advances of the 20th century. #FcukLeonardLeo
Concerto Grosso is complete with Ch 15:
Sunday evening, and all the days after
*
Sunday evening: sospirando
Itās a very good thing this intense week has ended with two nights that have changed my life. Itās a very bad thing that Sherlock is on a plane for Moscow.
If this were a rom-com, I could go after him; as it isnāt, Iām slammed for the next two weeks at least. After that, though, and before the next project, Iāll have nine days freeābut Iāve masses of music to learn and mark up. I canāt go haring off to London after him. Can I? If heāll even be in London.
But if he is. I could study on the long flights there and back. I could study while heās rehearsing, or practicing. It neednāt be time lost. And Molly and I could work by phone or skype, couldnāt we?
If Sherlock asks me.
Or I could stay in Ilford: my parents would be delighted, have been hinting a visit was long overdue.
And if I had a love interest theyād be over the moon.
āBring us home a nice lass, Johnny boy. Or lad. We donāt want to see you working so hard you canāt have a personal life.ā
This from my dad, whoās never completely reconciled to my dating men, even though he tries valiantly to hide it.
āWhat if sheās an American?ā
At that prospect he reared back a bit, asked what ever happened to āthat nice lad from Slough you were seeing last year.ā
Which bodes well for Sherlock. I could introduce him as my not-American boyfriend.
*
And that's a wrap. Thank you, margalo schiff, for lavishing love and dollars on FTH and the organizations it supports. Not to mention, on the Sherlock fandom. You are a star.
And you, @helloliriels, I adore the art you made for this story, also for FTH. In this fandom we have a whole galaxy of stars.
Thank you for reblogging; that's such a help.
The more we learn about #ColeAllen, the more it seems they knew who he was, what he set out to do, and let it happen. #WHCA #staged

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GUYS GUYS GUYS
THEY RELEASED THE COYOTE VS ACME TRAILER !!!!!
WE WON !!!
sorry the looney tunes movie that got buried by a massive company for corporate purposes is about fighting back against a massive company trying to bury incidents for corporate purposes?
Anemone song
Happy 9th birthday to Anemone song