merripestin: (Default)
[personal profile] prettyarbitrary has worked out an IFTTT recipe  to bridge the gap between platforms and   x-post from LJ to Tumblr here, using your LJ's RSS feed.  Because, PA is awesome.

This should work just as well with the RSS from a dreamwidth.

I wanted a version that only crossposted posts using certain keywords.  Using the RSS feed, IFTTT kept giving me "Recipe check failed" but when I changed the url to the atom feed (literally, replace "rss" with "atom" in the url) it worked fine.
merripestin: (Default)
 I think I have slightly overdone the fizzy peach moscato, which is very nice.  I'm currently Mildly Drunk Pest.  Mildly Drunk Pest wants to lie around watching shakespeare while eating chocolate and doing elaborate braids.  No, Drunk Pest.  It is not Shakespeare and braids time.  It is antidiogenes time.

I gave the fic with the missing scenes a quite serious looking-at and then resolutely ran away from it and opened up This Fucking Zwischenzug  (all my project names end up with "this fucking" prepended sooner or later).  There are scenes in there I don't remember writing.  I am feeling much more kindly disposed towards Past Pest now. 

ETA: dreamwidth, why you no crosspost.  try again.  try better.
merripestin: (Default)
 The Procedure @ AO3


A couple StrexCorp doctors help out at the Night Vale branch of Planned Parenthood.

The procedure turned out to be a lot messier, using the Desert Bluffs methodology.



(And then there's Dreamwidth.  Poor neglected completely superior Dreamwidth.  I give up hope that fandom will migrate here, because I am part of the problem.  sigh)

merripestin: (Default)
The Discernment of Spirits on AO3
 
John was supposed to bring the suspect back to this hotel room to look at some fake Ming Dynasty pottery.
 
Sherlock wasn't expecting John to run into Sarah, finish off the case, and bring her back to the hotel for sex.
 
John wasn't expecting Sherlock to bug the room.



I know, all I ever post here anymore are fic links.  Not likely to change soon either, as Semester has begun and other ugliness is grinding down all my cope.
merripestin: (Default)
 Comorbidity on AO3
Sherlock/John.  Oral sex, figging, necrophilia.
Previously known as "What the fuck did I just write?"

One night in the shower, after John found out about Sherlock's... kink, he impulsively wrenched the handle around to cold.
 
It was worse, when it was John.
It was better, when it was John.
 
(no actual dead people or sex therewith)

 
merripestin: (Default)
podfic of Tamed, Wild, Caged, and Feral Creatures (AO3) cover

Once Upon a Time, Rumplestiltskin/Belle, E

 

Belle is there, in his house, a fortune un-earned.

Until his will crumbled, he would pretend to be what she thought he was, what she thought she wanted. He’d lay his mangy hide down at her feet and let her hands soothe him and pretend not to be rabid and broken.

MP3 download 87 min, 80 MB (mediafire)
at audiofic archive

I really hope someday AO3 gets things together to archive podfic.  I'm sure there are worries about people using it to share commercial files or something, but we really really need it.

 
merripestin: (let's dish)
So when it seemed like anybody whose tumblr had adult stuff on it was being hidden from tag searches and everybody was really upset, it very briefly got my hopes up that there would be a mass exodus and fandom would come over here where there is a working comment system. I didn't want people to be unhappy, I just wanted them to find happiness over here. I fear it is never to be.

I do admit, tumblr's queue feature is really nice, because I go on little kicks where I have a bunch of stuff to post, and then I dry up for days on end.  Being able to do it all in one go, but then have it automatically trickle out without spamming people all in one day is lovely.
merripestin: (Default)
 London Orbital on AO3
 
"I’m driving first," Sally said. “Guv can take over after me. If we’re all still mad enough to be at this after that, John can drive third shift. Then the freak, if we decide we can risk it."
 
"John doesn’t drive," said Sherlock.
 
"Then what’s John along for?" Sally protested. Which Greg reckoned had to be just Sally trying to wind Sherlock up. She knew better. All night in a car with Sherlock was bad enough. All night driving round and round the M25 looking for a killer, with Sherlock deprived of John Watson, sounded like a new circle of hell.



merripestin: (Default)
 Umbrella Defense on Ao3  
 
Five universes where Mycroft Holmes saved his little brother (in five 221B’s).
 
Including zombies, wizards, 1984, and a boy on a diet.


 
Meanwhile this migraine just keeps hanging on behind my eyes, occasionally sending a spike through my brain to remind me it's there, and the perscription ibuprofen is not helping very much, but I'm afraid to go back to the vicodin, because it sometimes made me throw up for hours.
merripestin: (sappho not happy)
 So, apparently the discworld con doesn't do registration at the door, only online and only up to earlier this week.  So I guess I am not going to the discworld con.  tears of frustrated rage

Of course my first response was: I am such a fucking useless idiot.  

But it genuinely never even occurred to me that a con wouldn't do registration at the door.

It does not help that I'm on the third day of an on-and-off low-grade migraine.

Aggressively sulks on couch.  Considers getting even with the world by going back to bed with malice aforethought.

merripestin: (Default)
Passively aggressively posting about there being something that I'm not posting about gives me the strength of will to bite my tongue really jolly hard.  Because I know better than to publicly and directly disagree with BNFs.  Because, really, its just people being Wrong On The Internet.  Because I can just ignore it.   Because fandom is a surprisingly nice place for something made of people.  So ignore it.  Okay.  Okay.  
merripestin: (Default)
Tangent to a Surface on Ao3

 John and Greg up against a wall, after a case.  Casual, yeah, casual sounds perfect.
 
"Grinding, eh? My day," Greg said against the side of John’s head, “we called this a dry hump."
 
"Frottage," John corrected, adjusting his angle.
 
"Oh, hark at the posh lad," Greg mocked, and rocked a little bit, like he thought this was going to be subtle.

 
I often wish AO3 didn't use "relationship" for both "sex between these people" and "here's the relationship this is really about," because I never know how to tag stuff like this.  This is like that time I wrote Giles/Ethan porn that was actually all about Giles being miserably in love with Buffy.  Except this is upbeat, verging on fluffy.  

Also, I was going to post this like, two hours ago, but I was all,  "Fuck, how do you titles?"  Still not happy with it.
merripestin: (Default)
in general
  • I often neglect to use the word lambent for whole paragraphs, so I will never get the Peakesque voice right.
  • Listening to the audiobooks just a bit to help get the Peakesque voice right and suddenly it’s two hours later and I’m blinking and hazed by multiple wordgasms.
  • Plans Making Any Damn Sense is out of character for everyone.  This, unexplainably, puts plotting even further outside my scope.
  • Whenever Titus shows up, I suffer an overwhelming temptation to have him struck by lightning, just to simplify things.  
  • Prunesquallor may not survive the ferocity of my love (which is primarily expressed by torturing him).
  • Nothing I could write shall ever be epic enough to be worthy of Gertrude.
in specific
  • Steerpike has Prunesquallor et al in stalemate -- if they accuse him, he'll expose Fuchsia.  There is a cracky solution to this that makes me cackle with delight, but I'm not sure i can take it seriously enough to write.

merripestin: (Default)
 Coming Home to Lochdubh

After No Man Is an Island, Isobel brings Hamish home.

Before he’d been ashore five minutes, someone started telling him he really had to see to old Anna, did he know what she’d been at, up in that cottage of hers?  And someone else asked what he meant to do, Hamish, about the bicycles, Hamish, shouldn’t he see to that, Hamish, as it was a living disgrace, Hamish, really it was.  The air was salt and chill on his skin and he was tired and sore, and they’d wear a man to death with their schemes and their feuds and their pet problems, and he loved the place like it was the whole of the earth.  He felt like Lazarus.

 

A fic that is almost certain to get fewer reads than even the Talisman slash (which itself has fewer reads than the One Foot in the Grave femmeslash (!)).  But it is finished which makes it better off than all the other little fuckers messing with me these days.

merripestin: (Default)
snrk, I'm actually amazed that it took an entire week for somebody to complain that Safe Distance's ending is disappointing because Sherlock and John never had anal sex.

I mean, aware as I am of the weirdness of privileging anal as the ultimate consummation (because it's the closest thing to PiV, I suppose)  I do enjoy the fantasy of awesome soul-merging penetrative sex, probably because I've spent my entire life marinating in heteronormative male sexuality (or as we call it, sexuality).

But that's exactly what this story wasn't about.  

If I'd put in a scene of anal for this particular version of Sherlock and John during the time period of the story, it would probably have ended with John in a coma, having asphyxiated after triple-bagging his cock and then attempting to stretch a condom over his entire body, headfirst.



On the other hand, somebody did finally notice which ACD story it was based on (or possibly everyone did, but everyone else thought it was too obvious and were to embarrassed for me to mention it.)

merripestin: (Default)
Safe Distance on AO3

The mother was apparently poisoned, the son seems to have killed himself playing Russian roulette. It's a murder and a suicide. Or is it a suicide and a murder? At least the case is distracting John from the fact that sex with Sherlock was probably a mistake right from the start. John will learn to cope, one way or another.

This week Chapter 11
John at eighty would be tiny and gnarled. His taste in clothes would finally suit him. His gold would have faded to grey, and the little lines on his face would collapse into ravines. He would look out from under white eyebrows just as fierce, but twice as wry.

And he had just given that, that wonderful, terrible, doubtless hugely annoying old man, to Sherlock, to keep.

Given the events of this week, I'm adding a trigger warning for this chapter: there is an explosion, and someone is injured.

This brings to its end my experiment in posting chapter by chapter instead of posting the whole fic when I finished it in February. OMG.  falls over, screams, dies

Tiny text is tiny again.  Why is pasting text into dw so WEIRD?"

merripestin: (Default)
Safe Distance on AO3

 


The mother was apparently poisoned, the son seems to have killed himself playing Russian roulette. It's a murder and a suicide. Or is it a suicide and a murder? At least the case is distracting John from the fact that sex with Sherlock was probably a mistake right from the start. John will learn to cope, one way or another.

 

This week Chapter 10

"Do you know? Do you even know?" John whispered. He drew back enough to look up at Sherlock's face. "You are phenomenal."

Sherlock's mouth tilted up only on one side. "That's the point, John, it wasn't-- "


John stood, crowding Sherlock against the side of the table. "Shut up. I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about you. You're a fucking phenomenon. You -- " he shook his head, grasping for words. "You're like, I dunno, vaccine. Cubism. You're silicon fucking chips. Never mind. You do know. Lack of self esteem isn't one of your problems."

I just know everybody's at the con and nobody's going to read it...

 (We shall see if I have managed to strip out all the weird formatting this time.  Why this is so hard, I don't know.)
merripestin: (Default)

 

 Safe Distance on AO3

The mother was apparently poisoned, the son seems to have killed himself playing Russian roulette. It's a murder and a suicide. Or is it a suicide and a murder?  At least the case is distracting John from the fact that sex with Sherlock was probably a mistake right from the start. John will learn to cope, one way or another.

 

This week Chapter 9

The world was vivid. A sharp edge of shattered collarbone announced itself to his hand so that he could shift his palm to keep pressure in place so it wouldn't turn and break through skin. John's hands were hot and rock solid, keeping their work stable as they got a stretcher under the man. He rose in perfect unison with the medics, as if unfolding, unaware of muscles in his legs or any effort. They were a single creature as they got into the ambulance, the man they were moving not jarred at all. John saw Sherlock, standing there, staring, as they went by. John saw everything.




Stupid work, getting in my way all day...





merripestin: (sappho not happy)
We offer eighty-umpteen sections of this class, and several of the people who teach it who aren't me more or less pass you for being alive.

So if you took it with me in a previous semester and failed, why would you sign up to take it with me again?

And if part of the reason you failed last time was that you cheated on homework by copy-pasting (wrong) answers from wikipedia, how, how HOW in hell did you decide it was a good idea to DO THE SAME THING AGAIN this semester?  

Actually, I know the answer.  Certain students view professors the way certain men view women: as mysterious black boxes whose actions are entirely unpredictable.  They might bestow A's upon you or they may fail you, entirely at their whim, and none of that has anything to do with work on your part, although you can try to propitiate them by making offerings.    

(They always try to offer me a mysterious delicacy called an "extra credit project."  In other words, they think I will like them better if they make me grade MORE stuff for them.  This is the opposite of what I want.)

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