This is an old pagan tradition that encourages good spirits to enter the home by offering them smut and character development for their favourite works of fiction.
It's also an excuse to have some fun like last year. I don't really do New Year's Eve, but I found that sitting around, writing fic with
degr00ve provided the best one I've yet had.
Of course, I
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Comments 15
IN REAL LIFE
OMG I LOVE YOU SO MUCH <3 <3 <3
Right. God. Werewolf Lestrade. *thinkthinkthink*
HOW CAN I FOLLOW UP ON GRELL REALLY
AND SUCH A PERFECT GRELL TOO
Did I mention I love you?
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You know, Sherlock should really use Lestrade as a sniffer dog when he's in wolf form and then Lestrade should be all grumpy about it in the morning. But, really, there are all manner of amazing directions Werewolf!Lestrade fic could take.
Maybe I should have challenged you to write that epic Ashes to Ashes fic. All in one night. Fortunately, I am not cruel but I haven't yet told you how in love I am with the plot you dreamt up for it. Anything amiss in Heaven and Hell, you know I'll be interested. And Jim Keats sleeping on the floor because nobody likes him! It could be such a beautiful thing.
Anyway, fic, fic, fic... I'm trying to think up other ideas...
PS I love you too. :P
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It's funny that you mention both Lestrade as a sniffer dog and Ashes to Ashes because I posted this fic without reading this comment, and it involves . . . discussion of Lestrade as a sniffer dog and an Ashes to Ashes / Life on Mars reference ;) (obviously since Gene's world is not our world, the dodgy fellow from Internal Affairs Lestrade met wasn't Jim Keats . . . just a guy in the real world who also happened to be a monster :p).
I am considering more and more writing that Ashes fic! I've gotten a few more ideas (but still no real solution to what's amiss between Heaven and Hell -- argh!). Coming up with stuff for Jim to do now that he no longer has to masquerade as a nice guy is fun too, he no longer has to take attitude ( ... )
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My head-canon is littered with characters who happen to be werewolves, thanks to someone. I think Lestrade's just joined them. :B
(Sorry if I'm slow to comment, by the way - it takes quite a while to do anything on this computer.)
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Am so glad you enjoyed it! I had a hard time getting going on this one, I wasn't properly warmed up, but it got me going with all my other fics tonight so that's good, and if it was enjoyable besides, that's perfect :)
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You write both of them so well. I love how Sherlock manages to get into their conversation just moments after they've been engaged in mutual-masturbation. It's so like them. They will never be free.
How is this so perfectly in character? Really? I'm going to start shipping it now, and I'm going to be surprised every time I'm reminded that it's not canon.
I had absolutely no opinions on Lestrade/Anderson two minutes ago. This is all so sudden!
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I love how he controls them from afar just by having the thought of him there XD I think if I had to work with someone like Sherlock I'd get just as paranoid. "Would you stop analyzing who I had sex with and what I had for breakfast already, you creeper!"
I didn't have opinions on Lestrade/Anderson either earlier in the evening, but then for some reason I put Anderson's dog hair allergy in the previous fic and that just sparked the thought - "Hmmm, Lestrade/Anderson . . .", I may post this fic in a public community just to see if more people agree. Who knows? It could catch on. Lestrade/Mycroft is getting popular right now, too.
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"But above and beyond there's still one name left over,
And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover --
But the cat himself knows, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
His ineffable effable
Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name."
-- T. S. Eliot, The Naming of Cats
"And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor."
-- Edgar Allan Poe, ( ... )
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