Hey, are you aware of the fact that many people in Gaza have resorted to cutting pieces of their tents for scraps for pads? Which as you can imagine isn't the safest option but their only option in most cases. This also applies to those going through postpartum bleeding from giving birth. If you want to or can help:
The Pious Projects - they distribute feminine hygiene kits for people in Gaza! I suggest checking it out yourself but there's various amounts you can give from $5-$1,000 to help make and distribute these kits! They cost around $25 for each kit, but every bit helps. Make sure to share the link even if you can't currently help donate today!
Fuck I’m at a fencing tournament and literally a minute after I reblogged this my dad told me that he talked to the point people and I’m probably going to win a medal.
I need to follow up to say I reblogged this last night, and this morning I got some of the best news of my life, like, a life dream come true news thing.
FUCK, I though it was just another lucky meme but LISTEN. Since a week ago I was waiting a phone call to confirm me if I got a job or not in my university. I reblogged this yesterday’s night “just for fun and because I don’t want any bagel to be mad with me”, and today’s afternoon, while I was losing my time as always, the professor I was supposed to work with called me and asked me for my personal information to start working with her.
Ok, but what is the trauma around Sherlock’s birthday? Look at his face in the “now you do” gif. I know he’s been through some shit at this point, and obviously BC is wearing stuff in his eyes since Sherlock’s been injured, but that face…that is a thousand yard stare. That is an acting choice.
Really enjoying the Sherlock & Co podcast. It’s charming and funny and clever AF. They’re apparently going to retell the entire canon and a new episode drops every Monday.
There are things that are just so wrong, so very fucking wrong, that you can't find the way into writing about it, or even thinking about it. This is the way I am feeling right now about the news that Fawn Fitter, better known to fandom as Esterbrook, passed away yesterday.
There is, or used to be, a group of Sherlock-adjacent writers/creators here in the Bay Area, who before Covid would get together once a month or so at a little cafe in Berkeley to write, and eat, and kvetch, and laugh. I never felt quite cool enough to sit at that table, but I was invited anyway, and sometimes Esterbrook would be there. She would talk about travel and book ideas and fic ideas and her cat and people she loved with such clarity and such caring that I would be left wondering how it was possible to be that damn smart, that damn kind, AND that damn honest all the time. She had a sense of justice that did not flinch, and her loyalty ran deep.
She was always so kind and supportive about my daughter, even making time once to meet in the city for tea so she could give her kind of a sideways pep talk. It was so lovely and real.
I betaed for Esterbrook once, and it was a humbling experience in the most beautiful way. There is almost always something worth pointing out to the writer. A snag, maybe, or a word that doesn't flow, or an image that isn't precise, or something. But Esterbrook's writing was just flawless. It flowed and danced and worked and, yeah. I had nothing to say. And I mean, I tried. I really wanted to do my best by this work, I'd felt honored to be asked, but Esterbrook was her own best editor. I felt like a slug, but I was exhilarated by the words.
Anyway, I think this is the thing I want to say to all of you: please don't assume that because I didn't respond to your news on Twitter/FB/here, that I don't care. I'm not on Facebook or Twitter, and I'm not really in any fandom circles anymore, except the writers' suite. If I loved you once, I love you now. And I'm here and would love to talk, if you want to. Bakerstmel at gmail will find me.
And to Esterbrook: I hope you are at peace now. San Francisco feels colder without you.
Esterbrook, whose real name was Fawn, lived as honestly and true to her beliefs as anyone I've ever known. She was thoughtful, caring, and hilarious, and more than willing to mix it up for a good cause.
Esterbrook was an actual professional writer who made a living writing actual, professional words. Her fics reflected her gift, and then some. I had the opportunity to beta for her once, and I literally had no notes. Just first pass, flawless. She was astonishing in her assurance with the written word.
Years ago, when I'd just met her, I barely bit back a laugh when, while leading a panel on Sussexlock at Sherlock Seattle, she called out those writers who insisted on painting Sherlock and John in middle age as feeble and past their prime by indicating her own fit figure, dark hair and dancing eyes and saying, "Hey, kids, this is what 40 looks like."
To remember her, and to remind us all of her brilliant talent. I'm linking probably her best known fic, Stay. The Writers' Suite crew mourns her passing and honors her memory. She was an extraordinary writer and an extraordinary person. We'll miss her.
-Mel
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Remember, winter doesn't officially begin until December 21, she said pedantically.
I've delayed writing this entry because I was trying to define the reason (or reasons) why I love this fic so damn much. I read this fic at least twice a year, usually sometime in February and then again in the fall. It's a sports fic, and while I am not in general a sports person, I do love me some baseball. But the sport isn't the reason I love this fic, and I think I may have figured it out. Stick with me.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
I started the link at Chapter 2, because Chapter 1 is a guide to baseball for the uninitiated. Some of it is out of date now, because MLB in its STUPIDITY has messed around with the rules this year because GOD FORBID people have to wait longer than a minute for anything to fucking happen on a sports field, and of course only HITS matter, but it is still fun to read. You don't need it to appreciate the fic, though.
Whilst I was processing this fic, I spent some time thinking about sports fics in general, and that led me to reread a couple of other favorites. One was A Study in Winning, by Jupiter_Ash. I really like that fic as well, even though I know next to nothing about tennis. I like the drama of the story, I like Sherlock faking his nationality just because, and I enjoy John being a petty little bitch to Moriarty there at the end. I feel like there for a while everyone had read or was reading that fic. Another one I went back to was Of Ice and Men, by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John, which is an OT3 set during the Winter Olympics. That one has John in the Paralympics, which gives the relationships an entirely new dimension. There are other good sports fics - throw your favorite in the comments, if you like. I'm mostly limiting my scope in these musings to Sherlock, as I've said before, but I'll read anything if it's good. Links to these two fics are below.
One of the ways in which sports fics have an advantage is that they have a built in structure. There's a match, or a tournament, or a season, and the relationship drama plays out against that backdrop. Writing classes always talk about the "ticking clock" approach to narrative tension, and almost every sport has some type of literal ticking clock. The Bang and the Clatter plays out over a full baseball season, including Spring Training and the postseason. That's basically a year minus the main American holidays, and EarlGreyTea does a really good job of letting the story play out at an appropriate pace. That's very impressive considering that she was posting this as a WIP over the course of an actual season.
(I need to take a minute to talk about my issues with EGT, and by "issues" I mean "soul churning jealousy." EGT is ridiculously prolific. If you go back into the fandom annals and look at the timing of some of her biggest fics, she was posting what became major reference points for the fandom in tandem, writing multiple fics at the same damn time, while, you know, teaching law or moving cross country. She is the best example I know of the importance of writing regularly. Of course, she's incredibly gifted, highly skilled at plotting, characterization, pacing, and just words. She has a fabulous imagination. Her dialogue rings true, and it's fun. But she can turn really good stuff out relatively quickly because she's limber AF. She writes. Anyone who comes to Word Sprints on Sundays or just hangs with me writing knows I'm not fast. I'm lucky to break 100 words in 15 minutes. Part of that is that I edit as I go, but it's also that I don't write as often as I would like to, so it takes me some time to warm up. I would like to be more like EGT, which probably sounds kind of creepy. I hope she doesn't see this. Anyway, she's written many of my top 20, and she actually finishes her stuff. So, yeah. Issues.)
So here is where I ended up: this is a good AU that takes advantage of the time crunch of the sport in which it is set, but that is not why I read it 2+ times per year. I read it because this is one of my favorite John and Sherlock relationships ever. It feels so in character for the way we see them in the show (at least through S2; this was written in 2013). We see them meet, we feel their attraction, we feel Sherlock's very authentic confusion. We feel their fear at being caught out, at first by each other and then by the world. They earn their angst. The way to my heart is good characterization, and this has that. Alongside the battery, the OCs (especially Sherlock and John's families) are complex and have issues of their own. Moriarty doesn't show up until the All Star Workout, which is halfway through the season for those of you who don't know, but it works because by that point, John and Sherlock have things to lose. Lestrade is the best effing choice for a beleaguered, exasperated baseball manager there ever was. Mycroft saves the day AND fucks it up, which I wish we'd seen more of in those days.
Also, John and Sherlock never get too far away from each other, and when they're separated, it's usually for narrative reasons. I like that in a fic, I've come to realize. I like to watch the characters' interplay. It's hard for Sherlock to keep secrets from John when they work together, commute together, and live together, and John is no fool. Their office isn't 221b Baker Street, it's a stadium in Austin, TX, where shit plays out in front of 30k people. John loves baseball. Sherlock loves John. They fight, they fall in love, they eat Chinese food, and they play baseball. And best of all, they are themselves together.
If you read the parts that EGT wrote after the big story, there's a mention of Sherlock pulling together a pick up game in London made of American ex-pats for John's sake, and I'll tell you what. That really pulls this fic together for me. This Sherlock would do that for this John, and we end up a little on the outside looking in, and it's just charming as fuck.
In conclusion, read this even if you don't know baseball, if you want great characterization, a chance to be reminded of how beautiful John and Sherlock were together back in the golden age. Pay attention to the ticking clocks in your favorite fics; intentional or not, there's almost always some time pressure ginning up the conflict. If you're a writer, the best way to get better is to write more. Feels like bullshit, but it's true. And finally, fuck MLB forever for going the completely wrong way on the DH. Pitchers in both leagues should have to/get to hit, and more to the point, DHs should have to fucking do something when their teams are out in the field. I will die on this mound.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
(Also, if I'm being honest, Bull Durham is probably my favorite movie, so maybe I'm more of a baseball fan than I'm letting on. I do generally love baseball in popular media. But I still think it's the characterization.)
There aren't enough words to express how much I LOVE this story.
I'm a baseball fan, and we are a fairly superstitious bunch (as John even notes in the fic). Reading The Bang and the Clatter has become part of my annual baseball season ritual. I usually try to time the start of my reread with the start of Spring Training each February.
All the banter about jinxing in this fic SENDS me. 307 seconds. Green tea. The plane tickets. Inviting families to games. Giving interviews. It’s hilarious and so true.
Remember, winter doesn't officially begin until December 21, she said pedantically.
I've delayed writing this entry because I was trying to define the reason (or reasons) why I love this fic so damn much. I read this fic at least twice a year, usually sometime in February and then again in the fall. It's a sports fic, and while I am not in general a sports person, I do love me some baseball. But the sport isn't the reason I love this fic, and I think I may have figured it out. Stick with me.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
I started the link at Chapter 2, because Chapter 1 is a guide to baseball for the uninitiated. Some of it is out of date now, because MLB in its STUPIDITY has messed around with the rules this year because GOD FORBID people have to wait longer than a minute for anything to fucking happen on a sports field, and of course only HITS matter, but it is still fun to read. You don't need it to appreciate the fic, though.
Whilst I was processing this fic, I spent some time thinking about sports fics in general, and that led me to reread a couple of other favorites. One was A Study in Winning, by Jupiter_Ash. I really like that fic as well, even though I know next to nothing about tennis. I like the drama of the story, I like Sherlock faking his nationality just because, and I enjoy John being a petty little bitch to Moriarty there at the end. I feel like there for a while everyone had read or was reading that fic. Another one I went back to was Of Ice and Men, by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John, which is an OT3 set during the Winter Olympics. That one has John in the Paralympics, which gives the relationships an entirely new dimension. There are other good sports fics - throw your favorite in the comments, if you like. I'm mostly limiting my scope in these musings to Sherlock, as I've said before, but I'll read anything if it's good. Links to these two fics are below.
One of the ways in which sports fics have an advantage is that they have a built in structure. There's a match, or a tournament, or a season, and the relationship drama plays out against that backdrop. Writing classes always talk about the "ticking clock" approach to narrative tension, and almost every sport has some type of literal ticking clock. The Bang and the Clatter plays out over a full baseball season, including Spring Training and the postseason. That's basically a year minus the main American holidays, and EarlGreyTea does a really good job of letting the story play out at an appropriate pace. That's very impressive considering that she was posting this as a WIP over the course of an actual season.
(I need to take a minute to talk about my issues with EGT, and by "issues" I mean "soul churning jealousy." EGT is ridiculously prolific. If you go back into the fandom annals and look at the timing of some of her biggest fics, she was posting what became major reference points for the fandom in tandem, writing multiple fics at the same damn time, while, you know, teaching law or moving cross country. She is the best example I know of the importance of writing regularly. Of course, she's incredibly gifted, highly skilled at plotting, characterization, pacing, and just words. She has a fabulous imagination. Her dialogue rings true, and it's fun. But she can turn really good stuff out relatively quickly because she's limber AF. She writes. Anyone who comes to Word Sprints on Sundays or just hangs with me writing knows I'm not fast. I'm lucky to break 100 words in 15 minutes. Part of that is that I edit as I go, but it's also that I don't write as often as I would like to, so it takes me some time to warm up. I would like to be more like EGT, which probably sounds kind of creepy. I hope she doesn't see this. Anyway, she's written many of my top 20, and she actually finishes her stuff. So, yeah. Issues.)
So here is where I ended up: this is a good AU that takes advantage of the time crunch of the sport in which it is set, but that is not why I read it 2+ times per year. I read it because this is one of my favorite John and Sherlock relationships ever. It feels so in character for the way we see them in the show (at least through S2; this was written in 2013). We see them meet, we feel their attraction, we feel Sherlock's very authentic confusion. We feel their fear at being caught out, at first by each other and then by the world. They earn their angst. The way to my heart is good characterization, and this has that. Alongside the battery, the OCs (especially Sherlock and John's families) are complex and have issues of their own. Moriarty doesn't show up until the All Star Workout, which is halfway through the season for those of you who don't know, but it works because by that point, John and Sherlock have things to lose. Lestrade is the best effing choice for a beleaguered, exasperated baseball manager there ever was. Mycroft saves the day AND fucks it up, which I wish we'd seen more of in those days.
Also, John and Sherlock never get too far away from each other, and when they're separated, it's usually for narrative reasons. I like that in a fic, I've come to realize. I like to watch the characters' interplay. It's hard for Sherlock to keep secrets from John when they work together, commute together, and live together, and John is no fool. Their office isn't 221b Baker Street, it's a stadium in Austin, TX, where shit plays out in front of 30k people. John loves baseball. Sherlock loves John. They fight, they fall in love, they eat Chinese food, and they play baseball. And best of all, they are themselves together.
If you read the parts that EGT wrote after the big story, there's a mention of Sherlock pulling together a pick up game in London made of American ex-pats for John's sake, and I'll tell you what. That really pulls this fic together for me. This Sherlock would do that for this John, and we end up a little on the outside looking in, and it's just charming as fuck.
In conclusion, read this even if you don't know baseball, if you want great characterization, a chance to be reminded of how beautiful John and Sherlock were together back in the golden age. Pay attention to the ticking clocks in your favorite fics; intentional or not, there's almost always some time pressure ginning up the conflict. If you're a writer, the best way to get better is to write more. Feels like bullshit, but it's true. And finally, fuck MLB forever for going the completely wrong way on the DH. Pitchers in both leagues should have to/get to hit, and more to the point, DHs should have to fucking do something when their teams are out in the field. I will die on this mound.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
(Also, if I'm being honest, Bull Durham is probably my favorite movie, so maybe I'm more of a baseball fan than I'm letting on. I do generally love baseball in popular media. But I still think it's the characterization.)
Today I went for “coffee” with my daughter’s best friend’s mom, who somehow manages to gently kick me in the ass every time I see her. She asked how my writing is going, and I answered honestly, it’s not. I have a relatively new job that is a ton of responsibility. I am always too tired to write at night, that’s been true for years, but I do a true commute now so my early getting up is for driving and not creation. I’m distressed by this, but I’m not in a position to move closer to work just yet, so I’m trying to figure out a way to make everything work in the meantime. She nodded and then said something very wise and also ass-kicky.
She said a friend of hers who is a systems analyst once told her that when you have a log jam like mine, you have to devote ALL OF YOUR RESOURCES to resolving it as soon as you recognize it. Like you can’t just think about the problem in your spare time, you have to make fixing it your primary goal. Otherwise, the bottle neck won’t clear itself, and eventually everything—your talent, drive, passion—will clog the opening and it will get harder and harder to unplug, to the point that your life will just begin flowing around it, making new paths that don’t use what you’ve left behind.
If this doesn’t ring true to you, then it probably doesn’t apply, but good Christ did it hit home with me. I’m not working on finding time to write at all, and I need to be, not out of obligation but because I fucking love to write. It’s when I’m most myself, when I feel most alive and connected. I love my job, but it’s what I do, not who I am. I think about writing, but it’s a distant kind of “yeah I should figure that out” kind of thought. Then the next day my alarm goes off at 5, I do Connections and the Wordle, throw on some work pajamas (scrubs) and roll out. I get home sometime around 7 or 8, maybe eat something, give the cats who don’t sleep with me some quality time, and crash. I already feel those new pathways forming, and you know, I had writer’s block for 25 long years while I was on SSRIs, and I do not want to go back.
I'm writing this in Memphis, TN, and I can't see any red trees from my hotel window. Too far south to have gotten started, maybe. It's been very overcast. I'm here for a professional meeting, and as is always the case, they've had the AC set to "violent" in the meeting rooms and I don't know that I'll ever be warm again. You know how if you've ever gotten a sunburn, the water in the shower is warmer when it hits your feet than when it comes out of the showerhead, because it's been heated by your skin? My showers here have been the complete opposite of that.
All that to say, I'm still feeling sad, still feeling lonely, definitely facing an anniversary reaction from my sister's passing, and still quite intentionally drowning my sorrows in fic.
I had the best, most angsty fic in mind for this entry, like, call and warn @221bjen level angst, but then one day, this manip came to mind, for no particular reason:
and oh, yeah, baby. I couldn't sign into AO3 fast enough. If you know, you know, and if you don't, you've got to read:
Whiteout, by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
I will spare your TL by adding a cut here.
This is a fic I re-read fairly often for sheer pleasure, but that is not to say it's fluff. The author tries in the notes to make it sound like fluff, but it's Sherlock and John as part of an aerial rescue team at the freaking Matterhorn and there is ice and danger and multiple CPR events and Greg Lestrade speaking French and secrets and tears and all kinds of relationship drama and it's JUST NOT FLUFF, OK? However, it is written in a fun documentary style (Shane based it on a documentary he came across on Netflix) with mostly dialogue and camera direction and it is a quick, satisfying read.
I've had the pleasure of betaing for this author in the past, and so I've spent more than a little time thinking about his style. He is an extremely versatile writer, and I think this fic really highlights that. If you compare this style to, say, the highly descriptive and romantic (not just in the relationship way, but also in the world-painted-in-perfect-light-way) Gimme Shelter, you wouldn't necessarily know they were written by the same person within a fairly short block of time (8 months). This fic is crisp, well timed, and quickly paced, with perfectly set points of action, snappy dialogue, and not a lot of down time. Gimme Shelter moves well too, but it's a very different feeling, silky and gentle. It's like the difference between taking a shot of great tequila vs savoring a perfect Cabernet. And if that's not enough for you, please note that SWDYCMJ has also written Priestlock, a skiing OT3, a straight-ahead ghost story, Potterlock, and a Black Mirror crossover that kept me on my toes. Plus, of course, the beautiful Brokeback Mountain fusion that still breaks my heart in all the best ways.
I mentioned in my last entry how the artistry in this fandom continues to knock me out to this day, and Shane's collective work is another prime example.
I don't feel like I'm doing this fic justice, but it's kinda hard for me to talk about without ruining the surprise of it. Even discussing the structure is tricky. Just...go read it. You'll thank me later.
That is a great call, the competence kink stuff. I think each of the MCs are pulled a step forward into their respective masteries from the show, like each of them is just as good as it gets. Ooh, and now I think about it, even Sherlock’s big misstep is only partly down to his hubris. Nature is the enemy here. We mostly see John’s competence while really only hearing about Sherlock’s, but Shane is writing a strong John POV, as he tends to do. I do love that when Sherlock makes his appearance, it’s slo-mo, perfectly wind-tousled, stalking across the tarmac in a suit to dubstep music. I also love that when the two are together on a flight, Sherlock silently doublechecks all the knots on John’s harness and John just lets him do it. Again, Shane does a lot of characterization with just a bit of suggestion. If this is fluff, it’s turbo charged fluff.
I'm writing this in Memphis, TN, and I can't see any red trees from my hotel window. Too far south to have gotten started, maybe. It's been very overcast. I'm here for a professional meeting, and as is always the case, they've had the AC set to "violent" in the meeting rooms and I don't know that I'll ever be warm again. You know how if you've ever gotten a sunburn, the water in the shower is warmer when it hits your feet than when it comes out of the showerhead, because it's been heated by your skin? My showers here have been the complete opposite of that.
All that to say, I'm still feeling sad, still feeling lonely, definitely facing an anniversary reaction from my sister's passing, and still quite intentionally drowning my sorrows in fic.
I had the best, most angsty fic in mind for this entry, like, call and warn @221bjen level angst, but then one day, this manip came to mind, for no particular reason:
and oh, yeah, baby. I couldn't sign into AO3 fast enough. If you know, you know, and if you don't, you've got to read:
Whiteout, by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
I will spare your TL by adding a cut here.
This is a fic I re-read fairly often for sheer pleasure, but that is not to say it's fluff. The author tries in the notes to make it sound like fluff, but it's Sherlock and John as part of an aerial rescue team at the freaking Matterhorn and there is ice and danger and multiple CPR events and Greg Lestrade speaking French and secrets and tears and all kinds of relationship drama and it's JUST NOT FLUFF, OK? However, it is written in a fun documentary style (Shane based it on a documentary he came across on Netflix) with mostly dialogue and camera direction and it is a quick, satisfying read.
I've had the pleasure of betaing for this author in the past, and so I've spent more than a little time thinking about his style. He is an extremely versatile writer, and I think this fic really highlights that. If you compare this style to, say, the highly descriptive and romantic (not just in the relationship way, but also in the world-painted-in-perfect-light-way) Gimme Shelter, you wouldn't necessarily know they were written by the same person within a fairly short block of time (8 months). This fic is crisp, well timed, and quickly paced, with perfectly set points of action, snappy dialogue, and not a lot of down time. Gimme Shelter moves well too, but it's a very different feeling, silky and gentle. It's like the difference between taking a shot of great tequila vs savoring a perfect Cabernet. And if that's not enough for you, please note that SWDYCMJ has also written Priestlock, a skiing OT3, a straight-ahead ghost story, Potterlock, and a Black Mirror crossover that kept me on my toes. Plus, of course, the beautiful Brokeback Mountain fusion that still breaks my heart in all the best ways.
I mentioned in my last entry how the artistry in this fandom continues to knock me out to this day, and Shane's collective work is another prime example.
I don't feel like I'm doing this fic justice, but it's kinda hard for me to talk about without ruining the surprise of it. Even discussing the structure is tricky. Just...go read it. You'll thank me later.
I’m not putting any pressure on myself to post these daily, just as the spirit moves. In case you’ve been keeping score or something.
This entry includes my absolute favorite love declaration of all time in any media of any kind anywhere. It also gives me an excuse to talk about narrative distance, so a double win for me!
the thunder beneath his ribs, by darcylindbergh
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Darcylindbergh writes lyrically, as in their works are word music. They play with language to great effect, and as someone who pathetically paws at that kind of thing from time to time, I have the greatest respect for their efforts.
(This one got long, so I'm getting all fancy and installing a cut. The love declaration is at the bottom of the post.)
I'm talking about this kind of thing, the opening paragraph (blue text is darcylindbergh throughout this post):
The slap of feet echoes against the pavement, nearly drowned out by the crash of thunder and heavy rainfall. Neon lights glint off wet concrete, turn the night into a kaleidoscopic circus of noise and heat and confusion, and John twists into it, gets lost in it, running fast, breathing hard, elbows in, focus.
And just like that, we are running, and we are in the rain, and more than that, we are running in the city in the rain, and more than that, we are in John's head like we have a regular table there. We are agitated, anxious, scared- we know John is a veteran, and if we don't, that's about to become clear in other ways-and it's all via rhythm and word choice.
You can do that sort of thing directly, and it can also work:
It was a thousand year rain, the kind of rain London hadn't seen since six months prior. John had always thought of rain as cold, growing up in the council flats, but this was hot, steamy, the kind of rain that felt like a hiss, like a slap, like a bullet. It was hard to breathe in rain like this, hard to keep his terror under control, but it didn't matter; he had to keep moving, keep running, keep up.
That's just me screwing around, but I hope you can see the difference--Darcy leans into the rhythm of the running, TWISTS into it, GETS LOST in it, running FAST, breathing HARD. It's elevated language. This can cause issues, in that artistry can feel more formal. I would argue that's likely intentional here, because darcylindbergh is a master of narrative distance. In this case, we are swept along in this steamy rain, physically close to the characters and in John's head but lacking the full access pass. Part of this is that John is fully in this moment and not thinking about anything else, and Darcy is using the rhythm of this language to tell us that without having to tell us that. This kind of attention to detail allows a good writer to craft a world in 5,700 words and have it ring true.
Anyone who talks writing with me ends up hearing a rant about POV. First person, third person, third person close, it all has to do with how much we know. Right? And I feel as though it's pretty standard in fic to write a close third, since fic is above all a character driven genre, but in general, the best writing swoops in and out. You pull back and get the lay of the land, dive in to feel the tension and see the eye twitches, and then pull back up to learn the history of why the land matters in the first place. Like so:
Around them, London carries on, oblivious: the rush of steam from cheap late-night restaurants, the splash of cabs through puddles growing in the streets, the smell of soaked skips and dirty bodies infiltrating the labyrinthine alleys Sherlock leads them through.
A bit later:
John had walked these streets once and thought nothing of it. He’d been to the pubs and the post offices, the Tescos and the Bootses, in the backs of cabs and on the Tube, and scarcely gave it any consideration.
Now he’s constantly looking over his shoulder, skin crawling and mind prickling with the possibility of being watched or followed. Dangerous has lost its slick attraction.
If this were a screenplay, and that was camera direction, we'd start from an overhead shot and then draw in down a city street, Baker Street maybe, with the tube station and that Boots right there by Marylebone, and then settle on John's anxious face as he glances behind him. Likely, then, we'd pull back a bit to show John behind Sherlock, closing the distance, getting ready for what happens next.
OK, I know no one is reading all this. I've gone a bit meta-mad. I just like writing that makes me smarter, and this fic does that. Even after all this time, the breadth and quality of the writing of this fandom in general just knocks me out.
Anyway, I promised a love declaration.
"I’m going to love you now,” John says. “I’m going to love you the way I’ve tried not to since the very beginning. I’m going to love with you every single cell of me and every single breath, and I will follow you until you tell me to stop and then wait for you to come back, and when I die I’m going to die with your name imprinted on my very bones with how much and how hard and how long I’ve loved you.”
Across the pillows, Sherlock blinks. He takes a tiny breath that doesn’t seem to make it past his lips and blinks again.
Then he takes John’s hands in his own and studies them, as though looking for some proof written in John’s lifelines, and he presses a kiss down into John’s palm. “Okay,” he breathes, damp and warm. He kisses John’s other palm. “Okay.”
And you know what's crazy? Those aren't even the best lines in this fucking thing. This is the best line:
Sherlock offers John his cuffs.
I mean, for fuck's sake (in the best possible way).
I’m revisiting some of my favorite fics to celebrate the coming of fall. I’ve been feeling nostalgic, you see, and a bit sad, and I don’t know, maybe I’ll remind you of an old favorite. Most, but not all of these will be Sherlock, because I’ve gotta be me.
Also speaking of being me, please allow me to remind you of the most delectable angst: The Speed of Objects in Motion, by Holyfant.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Those of you who know my fic preferences know that I dig me some retirementlock. This isn't that, precisely, in the cottage-in-Sussex way that it's normally understood (and that I've repeatedly savored, and even written), but it is John and Sherlock aging together and finding ways to make that work. This fic excels in its Sherlock characterization and its realism, its creative OCs, and also (spoiler alert) in its eminently earned happy ending. This fic is celebrating its tenth anniversary this year, and by god it holds up. It's 48k in two long chapters and even though I tend to swallow (ha) fic, it's not a quick read.
I don't know how to explain this but there is language that fills me with exhilaration even as it breaks my heart, words that are so perfectly chosen and placed that I have to stop, lift my eyes to the sky and thank the blessed universe that I speak English. It's almost a sense that there's more to the language than its meaning, an expansive feeling that I'm perceiving a level of meaning beyond the words. I refer to it as "flow" sometimes, but it's more than that. I wish I could explain it; maybe you've felt it too. Anyway, this fic has given me many of those moments over the years.
I corresponded with Holyfant in the comments after my last reading, and I'm glad to know they're still out there and doing well. Cheers to them and to you all for humoring me in my ranting.
Happy Five Fics Friday!! It's the first 5FF of Year 5, so be sure to check out the Year Four Masterpost to check out the over 1000 fics recced before today!
Other than that, let's start off the weekend with this wonderful first 5FF List of Year 5!
RECENT MFLs
Ignition by Callie4180 (T, 5,403 w., 1 Ch. || Firefighter AU || Firefighter John, Bill Murray) – John Watson is a firefighter. Sherlock Holmes thinks he's pretty hot.
The Discernment of Spirits by merripestin (E, 7,056 w., 1 Ch. || Voyeurism, Jealousy, Asexuality, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex) – 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.
As Predicted by Gem_Gem (M, 8,188 w., 4 Ch. || Annoying Sherlock, Angry John, Blow Jobs, Non-Con Voyeurism, Awkward Sexual Situations, Exhibitionism) – John finds out he has a thing for a bit of exhibitionism. Just a little. Especially when it came to the heavy gaze of one Sherlock Holmes.
Music for John by ampersand_ch (E, 25,187 w., 14 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, Classical Music, Diary/Journal, Sherlock's Violin, First Time, Musical Creation, Romantic Friendship) – Sherlock can't sleep and seeks comfort in his violin. And as he spends night after night immersed in music, it becomes clear to him what's causing his insomnia.
Organic Chemistry by cuddlefish (E, 171,145 w., 52 Ch. || University Omegaverse AU || Omega Sherlock, Rape/Non-Con, Rape Aftermath, Graphic Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Angst) – Sherlock discovers he is an omega under the worst circumstances possible. With Mycroft’s help he endeavours to hide his gender and live as a beta. But what will happen to his carefully maintained façade, and his relationship with his brother, when he moves in with an alpha army doctor?
Wow, thanks for the rec! Ignition was originally written for the platform formerly known as Twitter so the format is a little weird. It was fun to write, though, and I got to make firefighter puns, so it was a good day. Cheers!
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