Indil's Land

Suilad nin Mellon! Allow me to introduce myself: my name is Susanna, Indil for the web's friends. I am an 28 years old Italian girl and I live in Tuscany. I love reading and my favourite books are Harry Potter (I am a Slytherin soul), Sherlock Holmes...

[queenstardust]

Whenever I read Thranduil and Bard attend a political meeting with the dwarfs, this is what I think off. Because, let´s be honest we all witnessed Thranduils attempts at flirting.

[tastefullyoffensive]

“Moooom! …can you get my toy for me?” (via qoolove520)

[kathereal]

The baby yell

[emotiona1shorty]

She’s such a patient mom

[thecreach]

That’s one of the most adorable things I’ve ever seen.

[thunderbot]

My favorite part is when the younger cat straight-up gives up trying as soon as mom walks up.

[words-in-starless-skies-deactiv]

@bakerstreet-irregular

[naufragium]

the boys at their peak Tulio&Miguel™

[flowercrownbi]

I don’t want to date. I just want to magically end up in a long-term and emotionally-secure relationship with someone cute

[mysharona1987]

Book store signs.

[sanikasplace]

[themushroomblues]

I’ll give him ten more minutes. If there’s someplace else you have to be… Not tonight, Watson. Not tonight.

[sad--gittarius]

Dumbledore, died at age 115

Horcruxes made: 0

Voldemort, died at age 71

Horcruxes made: 7

Conclusion: Voldemort was the most useless, magic dependant wizard that ever existed. He could have lived till like 200 if he just ate well and exercised, but no he had to go and split up his soul and ruin perfectly good jewellery, fucking dumbass.

[lunalovegoodjunior]

this sounds like it was written by hermione granger at 1 am

[roaringstream]

He tried to use an advanced death magic spell to kill a baby. He literally doesn’t know how to do anything without magic. Just drop it out a window my dude, babies are so delicate

[sad--gittarius]

Dumbledore, died at age 115

Horcruxes made: 0

Voldemort, died at age 71

Horcruxes made: 7

Conclusion: Voldemort was the most useless, magic dependant wizard that ever existed. He could have lived till like 200 if he just ate well and exercised, but no he had to go and split up his soul and ruin perfectly good jewellery, fucking dumbass.

[lunalovegoodjunior]

this sounds like it was written by hermione granger at 1 am

[roaringstream]

He tried to use an advanced death magic spell to kill a baby. He literally doesn’t know how to do anything without magic. Just drop it out a window my dude, babies are so delicate

[widxgastss]

I’ve read so much fanfiction I can’t remember what’s canon

[seblester]

[girlslikegirlsgetoverit-deactiv]

How satisfying is this 😭

[illness-and-instruments-blog]

[ruinedbaby]

“If a clock could count down to the moment you meet your soul mate, would you want to know?”

omg yes

[vickified]

lol yes, so then i can shave.

[sa-nok]

[trans-seberianold]

Because I’m a morbid asshole this is what I began thinking of:

You look at it nearly every day. It’s still up there, years away in fact, and that’s fine. But sometimes you watch it. You watch the number tick away and you wonder and you dream and you try not to expect too much because you know no matter what it’ll be perfect. One a year when it becomes the exact future anniversary you watch it and count down to 0 and get giddy. Only ten more years. Only seven more years. Only four more years. 

Then one day you wake up. You stretch. You smile. You check. Just because. And something is wrong. All the numbers say 0. Something horrible has happened. 

They’re dead. 

[fifty-shades-of-goth]

but why

why would you post something like that

[gaytectivesinactive-deactivated]

Oh, god, I’m going to end up writing a -

fuck. Sorry.

—

From the day Sherlock could count, the clock on his wrist had confused him. 

“But what does it do?” he asked his mother disdainfully. “What is it’s purpose?”

His mother just smiled down at him and rubbed over the spot on her own wrist. Sherlock could see that it was down to all zeros. Time had run out, but he didn’t know what it was timing. She crouched down next to him and took his wrist in her hand, glancing down at it for a moment.

“One day,” she said, “you’re going to meet someone. The most important person you’ve ever met. Then, the clock will say zero.”

“It’s counting down to the day I meet someone?” Sherlock questioned. His tone was near disgusted. “That’s ridiculous. What’s the point of that? And don’t say I’m too young to understand. That doesn’t work.”

She shook her head and repeated, “the most important person you’ve ever met, Sherlock.”

“I don’t like people,” Sherlock said adamantly. “They’re annoying.”

She stood back up and ruffled his hair fondly, ignoring his huffs of protest. “You’ll understand, when it happens,” she assured, walking away. Sherlock frowned at the floor and stomped off to the sitting room to read, angry that his mother wouldn’t give him a straightforward explanation. 

Later on, as he managed his way through boredom and bullies and endless hours of school, he started hearing more about it. Excited quips from girls, squealing and showing each other their wrists. He would sneak around and listen, struggling through their annoying giggles long enough to finally hear; the timer counting down to the day you’d meet the most important person you’d ever meet. Your soul mate. 

The words made him cringe in digust. The fact that he even had a working timer was horrid; it meant he’d end up meeting someone he would be deigned to remain with for the rest of his life. How could someone stand a single person for such a long amount of time?

The time on his wrist, by age ten, still read over 40 years.

—

John spent more time than he liked to admit thinking about what his soul mate would be like.

What colour is their hair? What are their interests? Do they like sports, or do they prefer to read? What do they do? What’ll they think of me?

The final question, he knew, was ridiculous; they’d love him, just as he’d love them. That was how it worked. The question was always nagging at his mind, though. 

He was something of a romantic, you could say. He liked the idea of lying around with someone, cuddling with them on cold days and teasing, flirting like no one else mattered. 

He hadn’t even met his soul mate and he was enamoured of them.

The time on his wrist read 30 years on his first day of medical school, and he wondered why he was one of the few who had to wait so long. He continually told himself it would be worth it, eventually.

—

It was the first proper case Lestrade had actually, legitimately, asked Sherlock to come to, and he was being harassed about his timer.

“For god’s sake!” he shouted, practically ripping his sleeve as he tugged it back down. “Yes, I do have one, yes, it is functioning!”

Anderson was sneering at him from a distance and Sherlock had half a mind to chin him right then.

“Jesus, calm down, Sherlock!” Lestrade exclaimed, holding his hands up defensively. “It’s just - you know, a surprise. For you.”

“Not like I ruddy well control whether or not I have one,” the detective hissed, absentmindedly rubbing his wrist.

The rest of the people in the room glanced around awkwardly, hands unconsciously touching the marks on their own arms. Lestrade kept eyeing Sherlock in a way he believed to be inconspicuous until Sherlock finally snapped and remarked, “is it proof enough?”

“Proof of what?” Lestrade questioned, confused.

“Proof enough for you and your team that I’m a human being, even if I’d rather not be.”

Lestrade expression fell and he looked away, internally upset with himself. “How much time is left?”

“What’s it your business?” Sherlock muttered.

The time had jumped from ten years to twenty yesterday afternoon, and he berated himself for feeling anything by it.

—

Burning.

It was the only word present in John’s mind. Bloody accurate in so many senses. Burning desert sun, burning bullet embedded in his shoulder, burning ground against his back, burning throat as he let out strangled cries and raggedly inhaled dust.

Pain nearly covered it, but burning was more specific.

On top of the searing in his shoulder (searing worked pretty well, too), there was a hard throbbing in his right wrist, and he could see behind his eyes that the number of days until he met his soul mate were spinning rapidly, counting down. 

Hell, maybe they’re dead, too, he thought. The burning sun became blotched out with black spots and John was lost to the world, writhing in the dirt unconsciously.

—

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open and he cried out in surprise, gripping his arm and working his jaw through an unexpected throb of pain. That… Definitely didn’t feel right. 

He did a once-over of his arm and found nothing wrong until his eyes passed over his wrist. The numbers all read zero in dark red font and Sherlock’s expression faltered. 

Just the day before they’d read four years, nine months. Something had gone wrong.

—

John’s eyes flew back open and he wheezed, trying to work against the pain in his lungs as he scraped along for air.

Broken ribs, his mind supplied. You’ve just had a heart attack, too. Don’t forget the bullet wound, of course. Sorry, you were thinking about your soul mate? Good bloody luck.

If he’d had enough oxygen, John would’ve shouted for it to shut up. He could feel hands working on him, inexperienced and trembling, moving too fast, too shoddy.

“Stay with me, mate,” the soldier begged. “God help us.”

—

Sherlock watched as the numbers started re-appearing.

1 day, 2 days. 3. 4. 5. 6.

They jumped back down to zero and his stomach flipped. They started over.

… 10, 12, 15, 22.

0.

7, 17, 20.

The detective growled in frustration and rubbed his thumb hard over the mark.

“Make up your mind!” he shouted at it, watching as it climbed to 30 and dropped again. Every time it hit zero, he’d feel a stab of pain in his chest, a heavy weight on his heart.

The number rose once more and stopped at sixty-eight days.

If he felt a swell of warmth and relief, he dismissed it.

—

“John Watson!” 

Since returning home, John had stopped checking his wrist. There’d been too much distraction; teary visits from his mum and tense ones from Harry. Trying to find somewhere to stay while he was healing and until he could find a job of some kind.

“I heard you were abroad somewhere, getting shot at! What happened?”

“… I got shot.”

There was something nagging at the back of his head, but he couldn’t place it. He felt different - almost better.

“Come on - who’d want me for a flatmate?”

It wasn’t until he stepped in the door of that lab.

“Mike, can I borrow your phone? There’s no signal on mine.”

John snapped his gaze up and his right hand clenched around the head of his cane. That voice; that gorgeous baritone sent a chill down his spine and made his chest feel like it was inflating. 

“Ah - here. Use mine,” he offered breathlessly. Sherlock met his gaze and something flickered over his expression. His eyes darted down to his wrist and he lifted his sleeve just a centimetre - enough to make his breath hitch.

“Mike, give us a moment,” he ordered. Mike eyed them, back and forth, before complying and standing to walk out.

“Be back in ten minutes, mate, I ought to go check on something anyhow,” he said to John before he walked out. Sherlock stood as soon as the door shut and strode over to John, looming over him so close that John had to take a step backwards.

“Does it read zero?” Sherlock hissed. “Plain, grey zero?”

John wet his lips and sputtered a moment. Sherlock rolled his eyes and snatched the cane from John’s hand, taking his arm in the other and shoving up his sleeve.

0000d 00h 00m 00s

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” Sherlock demanded.

“What?” John asked, bewildered.

“Answer the question; Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“Afghanistan,” John managed. “How did you - “

“You were shot. You died, went into cardiac arrest, four times,” Sherlock said.

“How do you know this?” John asked.

Sherlock released John’s arm roughly and undid the cuff on his right arm, holding it out for John to see. The doctor ran a finger over it gingerly, then encircled Sherlock’s wrist with his hand. “Did you know,” Sherlock murmured, “if your soul mate - ” he said the word like it was filthy, but his gaze was still soft ” - dies, you can feel it? It shows up red on your wrist and it physically pains you.”

John swallowed and smiled tightly. “To be quite fair, I think the bullet hurt worse,” he quipped.

“What’s your name?” Sherlock asked.

“John Watson.”

“Sherlock Holmes.” 

The two stared at each other in a haze, eyes scanning over each other’s faces like they were committing them to memory.

“You’re looking for a flatmate?” John inquired eventually, softly.

“Not anymore.”

Sherlock grinned and John grinned back, sliding his hand from Sherlock’s wrist to link their fingers together. 

“Brilliant.”

[a-cumberbatch-of-cookies]

[lingering-spirit]

I HAVE BEEN LOOKING FOR THIS

[aspiringlandmermaid]

Happy Pride Month, everybody!  🌈

[swissmissficrecs]

hello! do you have any recs for fics (also) dealing with cultural differences? as in John and Sherlock are from different kingdoms/have different religions/are of different species/one is a Muggle and one a wizard... etc, and it is somehow addressed in the story. Thank you!

Reply: Very interesting premise! Here are some fics I’ve come up with where

John and Sherlock are from different worlds/cultures

A Fold in the Universe by darkest_bird (152K, E)Alpha Sherlock and Omega John are in a relationship. Prime Sherlock and Prime John are not. So what happens when a freak fold in the universe switches one John for the other?

Aphelion by marlowe_tops (33K, E)Inspired by the world of Neil Gaiman’s “A Study in Emerald”. Lovecraftian romance in which John finds out that some of Sherlock’s strange behavior was actually intended as courting rituals, and that his acceptance of the behavior was taken as consent. Meanwhile, bored prince Sebastian’s choice of a new mate ends up being far messier than he expected.

Drifting Under Bridges by cleflink (28K, M)The one where John finds himself in an alternate reality where he’s an omega, Sherlock is an infuriating mad genius (and an alpha) and all these gender stereotypes are infuriating in the extreme. Or, that gen omegaverse series. Because what else would you do with a trope that’s all about kinky knotting sex but take out the sex?

Everlasting by cypress_tree (16K, M)Most lives end.  A Tuck Everlasting fusion, in which the Holmes brothers have lived for a very, very long time.

Gifts from the Sea by patternofdefiance (19K, E)“A few weeks ago I would have thought you were impossible,” Sherlock begins, walking into the kitchen in his blue robe, and John – not quite catching on – wants to scoff and argue, No, actually, you are impossible, but then Sherlock continues: “But now I’d say you are improbable.” John thinks this might be flattering, if he could wrap his head around it, but he can’t – Sherlock is standing near, steaming his sun-baked-clean-sand smell, like the beach after rain, an alive smell, an other smell. It’s intoxicating, and John has been studiously avoiding it, but he can’t shift away now it’s so near. Now Sherlock’s so near. And then Sherlock ruins the probable-loveliness of his words and the definite-beauty of his presence by saying: “And by ‘improbable’ I mean ‘not yet scientifically acknowledged.’”

Happiness Can Be Found by HollyShadow88 (106K, E)Potterlock, written and completed during NaNoWriMo 2014. When Minerva McGonagall makes a surprise visit to Baker Street, a part of John’s past that he hoped he put behind him comes crashing back to the forefront. With a baby and an overly curious Sherlock Holmes in tow, John is forced back into the world he put behind him to bring a stop to the mysteriously familiar deaths haunting London.

More Things Than Are Dreamt Of by 1electricpirate (37K, E)In which John is (reluctantly) a wizard, Mycroft is (apparently) omniscient, and Sherlock is (surprisingly) oblivious. Notes: A magical AU, in which I probably abuse timelines and distort characters and basically indulge my own interpretation of magic, Hogwarts, and what it means when two worlds collide.

Names for the Galaxy by evadne (191K, E)Sci-fi AU. Sherlock Holmes is a recent arrival to 22nd century earth, and determined to find out who he is and where he comes from. John Watson has the unenviable task of teaching him how to be a normal human being.

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (95K, E)Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn’t truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes.

O Tempora O Mores by myolives (25K, PG)CROSSOVER with Canon; Sherlock/John, Holmes/Watson; when John and Watson get time-switched, the four of them work to get the guys back to their respective times (and boyfriends).

Preservation by Mildredandbobbin (32K, E)There was something there, between John and Sherlock, something on the other side of platonic, but John was straight and Sherlock was undead. John thought they had all the time in the world to sort it out. Vampire!lock AU.

Skeletons by flawedamythyst (174K, T)Sherlock’s refusal to talk about his past hides far more skeletons than John could ever have guessed at. Halloween-esque AU.

Software Malfunction by tigerintheflightdeck (16K, E)“You think I can’t love you? Just because you’re made with metal, and detailed programming?” The doctor propped himself on his elbow, and looked down at it. “I am nothing but blood and bone, and tissue. Things just managed get mashed together in a manner that made me like this. Just like you were put together to make you how you are. When I kiss you-” he did so, briefly, to prove his point. Then more deeply, and lingering, because he could. “When I touch you, or smile at you, does it make you feel different from when others have done it in the past?” Assigned as the head of Medical Research on the Baker, John Watson meets- and quickly falls in love with- Sherlock, a specially commissioned Companion android with a malfunction.

Stranger at the Gate by bendingsignpost (85K, E)As far as initiation rites go, kidnapping a human doctor from a defended town ought to seem extreme. When James Moriarty offers him the challenge, Sherlock never considers saying no. (Fantasy vampire AU)

The Curious Adventures of the Drs Watson by ShinySherlock (40K, M)What if ACD Watson and BBC Watson switched places …“Imposter!” Hands clenching the lapels of John’s coat, Holmes shoved him anew. “Yes!” John agreed, nodding, and then grimacing. “Sort of!”

The Kepler Problem by kinklock (24K, E)Working in uncharted space exploration was not as exciting as John had hoped, especially when it turned out to be mostly bot maintenance on uninhabited planets. However, the mystery of the repeated, unexplained malfunctions on planet BAK 2212 might turn out to be exactly the kind of adventure he’d been craving.

The Semantics of Crop Circle Formation by canolacrush (41K, M)"Look at these photographs,” I said, gesturing to the wall of crop circles.  "What do you observe?“ "Crop circles,” John replied. “Obvious.  What else?” “Are…are those intestines surrounding them?” “Yes.  The majority are bovine and ovine in origin. The farmers who have acquired these crop circles in their fields have also had a tenth of their livestock murdered and arranged thus.” “Why?” John said, presumably in a rhetorical fashion. I detest rhetorical questions.  "That is what I must find out, John.“

The Song Nobody Knows by Laur (78K, E)If Sherlock could take John Watson back to his cave, he would keep him alive as long as possible. He would collect rain water and sea weed and fish to feed him, and he would keep him warm with his soft feathers. In return John Watson would answer all of Sherlock’s questions. Yes, Sherlock would keep him, his own little mystery to unravel. Eventually, though, the human would die, as they always did, and Sherlock would have to eat him, like he always did.  This was much more interesting.

Watches by bendingsignpost (66K, E)First, he is shot in Afghanistan. Second, he wakes to a phone call in Chelmsford, Essex. Third is pain, fourth is normalcy, fifth is agony and sixth is confusion. By the eighth, he’s lost track. (John-centric AU)

[halloawhatisthis]

[wwinterweb]

Cats Using Dogs as Pillows (see 15 more)

[taikova]

I’m opening digital sketch+doodle commissions!

I’m a poor student, and if you’d like to help me a little to get by, please commission me!

Contact me on taikova(dot)mail(at)gmail(dot)com.

Depending on from closeups to fullbody sketches, the price for ONE character will be 15-20€, and with each new character/complicated object I add 10€ to the price. I’ll reduce the base price to 15€ if its bust, waist or just a really rough sketch you want. the price will increase quite fast if you request more details/colours/shading.

If you want colour on your sketch thats +5€ to the price. Shading that has details like valor changes definitely adds to the price as well.

backgrounds add +10€, at least.

if the commission involves design work, I will  5-10€ to the price per character.

There are bunch of variables that will increase the price, like amount of detail in character designs etc.

basically the price will climb fast if you want more than a basic monochrome sketch without shading!!

I don’t draw:

p*rn

toplock

might or might not draw your pairings/ships, depending how comfortable i am with it. For example: underage characters will only have platonic activities, big age differences are a large no.

What I DO draw:

ask anything not on the above list and i’ll see what i can do. we should negotiate what you want anyway.

If you want to know what kind of art I’d love to draw, my art tag is full of things I like. I’m not opposed to drawing for other fandoms than the ones I’ve drawn though. See the above no-list for reference.

please present your idea for commission in the first email, and if they’re are needed, provide references from the get-go. Easier for both of us!

Payments to PayPal -> i will send you an invoice requesting payment to your email address.

You will get your finished commission via Google Drive!