#darcylindbergh

[lydiajoypalmer]

Transcendently calm, gloriously still.

@forpiratereasons posted Grounded and you should go read it.

Etsy / Patreon

[robinwinged]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

(Good Omens Christmas fic review week!)

The Grinch Who Sold Christmas by @forineffablereasons is an elixir of the most concentrated and unbridled Christmas joy you’ve ever had, wrapped up in a gorgeous writing and ineffable feels. The story arc echoes your typical cheesy Christmas movie - big-city solicitor Crowley comes to finalize the sale of the Tadfield high street, and in the process of doing research for his proposal, falls in love with the small-town community and a certain kind-eyed angel. But regardless of how predictable the plot may sound initially, this fic is the most magnificent kind of fantasy - not because it contains any supernatural elements, but because it gives readers a taste of the ultimate dream: of unconditional love, and incandescent happiness, and being exactly where you are supposed to be and where you wholly and irrevocably belong.

This fic is so supremely soft - sticky-sweet and syrupy, but not in a cloying or overbearing way. Instead it feels like you are being enveloped in the tenderest and most comforting of hugs; like you are submerged in a torrential outpour of love that is all-consuming in its potency, leaving your fingertips all tingly and your face stretched involuntarily in a silly, dazzling smile. The romance between Crowley and Aziraphale is downright picturesque, from the flirty first-date banter to sticking with each other through thick and thin, and it’s wholesome and glorious and miraculous in its totality. I also cannot rave enough about the writing: it is some of my favourite kind of prose, flowing and melodious, with the lyrical cadence of a bedtime story and the unfettered magic of a fairy tale.

Highly recommended for anyone who wants to feel happiness, pure and simple, this lovely holiday season 💝

[bizarrelittlemew]

HI IDA I JUST WANTED TO SAY THANK YOU FOR GIFFING RELAX I'M FROM THE FUTURE IT'S SO GOOD AND CASPER IS SO PERFECT AND I APPRECIATE SEEING HIS BEAUTIFUL FACE BEAUTIFULLY RENDERED ON MY DASH

(it's darcy forpiratereasons on main lol)

HI DARCY <333

you're more than welcome!! i love Casper so much he's the perfect amount of stupid, hot, pathetic, and cute 😌

[archerdork]

ya know what it’s time for the biannual reading of The Grinch Who Sold Christmas by @darcylindbergh and y’all should do it to

[bakerstmel]

Fall Favorite Fic Festival, Entry 3

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).

[queerdraws]

really enjoyed this scene from this fic !! (on the necessity of a temptation by darcylindbergh) (rated M) -- enjoyed it in a way i couldn’t quite put in to words, so, here’s some art about it (hope i did it justice!)

dialogue is copied n pasted straight from the fic so, if you enjoyed this comic please give the fic a read n give the author some love <3 <3

[my-johnlockficrecs]

holding steady by darcylindbergh (@watsonshoneybee) (12k, E)

“Forever, then.”

There’s a curve of a smile against John’s neck, and only a moment later, the press of a kiss to the corner of John’s mouth. “Yes,” Sherlock promises too. “Forever, then.”

It’s quiet. It’s peaceful.

John closes his eyes.

Finding one part from this fic to quote was so incredibly hard, because I am in love with every sentence of the story. Truly. But I feel like the quote I chose really encapsulates a lot of what holding steady stands for. It’s a well earned quote, if that makes sense, because the weight that it carries is accumulated through the course of the fic. Also, the beautiful circular ending, with the fic beginning with the same line it (almost) closes on is just incredibly satisfying.

I love basically everything written by this author (I think it's safe to say that you can expect more recs of their work on this blog), and holding steady is no exception. In fact, this is one of my favourite comfort reads. For me, Johnlock is very much about devotion and the kind of bone-deep love that nestles into the very structure of who you are, unshakeable and inevitable. holding steady enumerates this dynamic so, so beautifully. The prose is incredibly elegant and melodious—it's not poetry, but it sounds like it, if that makes sense.

This fic is genuinely a treat for all of your senses. The imagery is just immaculate. When John and Sherlock were on the dock, fishing, I could hear the lapping of the water as Sherlock swished his foot in it, I could see the faint mist rising off the dewy grass, shimmering golden in the oncoming sunrise. When they stood in the meadow, I could feel the wind on my face, stirring the grass and making the flowers dance, could hear the susurrus of insects in the grass. Hell, I could practically smell the loamy, cool scent of the soil.

And my god, the way the author has written John and Sherlock and everything they share here is so...intimate. It feels private, and something that words don't really do justice to, because what the author is writing about is so instinctive. One of the tags they use is "Mood without plot" and that's about the most I can hone in on. This fic is guaranteed to make you feel things, all of them good.

I can’t possibly make a rec of this fic and not talk about the smut in this fic because holy hell. It is masterful. It is so tender and reverent and yet so heated and passionate. Actually, reading that sentence again, I feel like I should make a correction; there's nothing "and yet" about it, it's tender and reverent and it's hot and passionate (much like John and Sherlock themselves—or the versions of them that live in my head rent free, at any rate). The author weaves the overall theme of firm, unyielding love that forms the beating heart of this fic, so effortlessly and organically with all the tension and rising heat of an extremely well-paced smut scene. Mark me down as emotional and horny 😌

Romance, smut, beautiful scenery, fluff and so, so much more—what are you waiting for, go read holding steady now!

[cupidford]

holding steady by darcylindbergh

Johnlock Love Letters #2098

John knows what this is about. This is about finally figuring it out.