Okay. Have you ever gone back and read one of your works on AO3 and just thought 'Wait. I wrote this? ... I wrote this?' Like you read it and just think, damn. That was actually really good.
BECAUSE I JUST DID.
I went back and read my work I'll Follow You Into the Dark and I just. Holy Guacamole. Like it's a whole story about healing, and about loving who you are, and about Sherlock and John loving each other so much and finally getting some fucking tenderness. And I just.
I love it.
Anyway. This is a shameless self promotion because that fic was a fantastic use of 20,000 words and I feel proud of myself. It's a damn good story and if you love Johnlock stories I would love for you to read it.
As of today, I have been posting fics for 5 years on AO3.
It really doesn't feel like it's been that long. It feels like only yesterday that I was posting the first chapter of Lay Me Down and hyping myself up by saying that if people hated it, I could just delete it and pretend this had never happened.
Instead, I've been completely humbled and moved by all of the love and support that has been poured out on my fics. So very touched and honored by the people who have affirmed my writing abilities, and in extension the very person that I am. Writing is such a personal thing for me; it's baring my soul for the world to see. It's why I still don't let people who know me in real life read what I've written- I'm too afraid. But the Sherlock Fandom has been so kind, so loving, and I am forever changed because of that. And I am grateful. So, in honor of that I thought I'd make one of those posts about my AO3 works. Here it goes:
AO3 Name: fearfully_beautifully_made
Fandoms: BBC Sherlock (Although I have about a dozen Drarry fics that I'm constantly debating adding to my account)
Number of fics: 35 (2 are still in the process of being finished, 1 may never be.)
Fic You Spent the Most Time On: Both of the works in my Sparks series. (Through Fire and The Fire Finds a Home) Through Fire because it's one of my longest fics, had several cases, had a lot of Sherlock making deductions, and the content was heavy. The Fire Finds a Home because I got super insecure about my writing about half way through.
Fic You Spent the Least Time On: Hmmm. Probably either A Very Merry Un-Birthday or Fit to Be Tied. I can't remember for sure- A Very Merry Un-Birthday I wrote one afternoon sitting in the coffee shop and Fit to be Tied was one of those plot bunnies that I just had to get out of my head. Neither of them took long to put to paper and I didn't spend a lot of time laboring over editing.
Longest Fic: Through Fire but not by much and for the amount of time spent, the word count for The Most Wonderful Time of the Year is much more impressive. Through Fire has just 93,000 words and took me 6.5 months to post (plus 3-4 months of writing and planning beforehand); The Most Wonderful Time of the Year has nearly 83,000 words and I wrote and posted that fic in 26 days during the month of December.
Shortest Fic: December 9: Gift Okay. This one may be the shortest but it is one of the fluffiest, cutest things I've ever written. I loved writing this fic.
Most Hits, Comments, and Kudos: Also go to Through Fire. This fic picked up a lot of traction- I'm never quite sure why. I personally enjoyed writing this fic but for me it was about processing trauma. Maybe that's what other people liked, too. (Although, I do think that The Most Wonderful Time of the Year deserves an honorable mention because it was posted 4 years later and the kindness in the comments just completely blew me away. There was not a single mean/negative comment on that fic.)
Favorite Fic: In terms of writing, Supermarket Flowers was really rewarding. I liked working through the Stages of Grief for John and I liked mirroring what I wrote in the first half in the second half after Sherlock returns. It was also really fun because it seemed to keep people guessing and I had a lot of really interactive readers as I wrote that one. In terms of reading them later, I'll Follow You Into the Dark completely knocked my socks off. I read it a couple of weeks ago and genuinely could not believe I'd written something so beautiful. (Honorable mention to The White Christmas Lie for being my favorite trope- I love Fake Relationship Fics and I loved writing this one.)
Fic You Want to Rewrite/Expand on: My brain gets caught up in universes (which is why I have seven different, incomplete series). I'm currently working on Some Kind of Wonderful a wedding sequel to The Most Wonderful Time of the Year. Some day, I want to come back to the Sparks series and write another fic that's about Wendell but none of that is concrete yet. I'm also working on a Military Kink fic for my Role Playing universe Playing the Part.
Share a Bit of Your WIP: I like that this implies I only have one (regrettably, there are dozens, poor things). I suppose this one may be closest to being posted next:
When his ears stopped ringing he heard Sherlock's voice calling him. He opened his eyes blearily and reached out weakly to clasp the other man's hand. Sherlock hovered over him, looking like he'd seen a ghost, his white shirt stained red with John's blood.
"S'okay," John slurred again, trying in vain to comfort his best friend. "There's something I never said," John said then, because Sherlock should know, of course he should. “Something I never told you but always meant to.”
“Shhh,” Sherlock murmured, tears slipping from his eyes and leaving glistening, wet streaks down his cheeks. “It's alright. Save your strength and we'll talk about it later.”
The trouble was that John wasn't entirely sure there was going to be a later. “Listen to me. There are things I always should have said from the very beginning, something you should have always known and should never doubt.” John took a deep breath, he couldn't believe that even as he laid here dying he was still afraid to say the words aloud.
“It's alright,” Sherlock begged him, John wasn’t sure what he was begging for. “There's no need for confessions now. There’ll be plenty of time for that later,” he promised, but it sounded like a lie, even to John’s ears.
“There's always a need for confessions of this sort,” John replied, the world dissolving around him as he spoke. The darkness and the warmth were slipping in and he thought he could smell lemons. “I love you, Sherlock Holmes. I always have and I always will.”
The world was enveloped in darkness but somehow John wasn't afraid.
I did the thing! I wrote a fic using the Advent 2020 Prompt List. I have miraculously finished this 26 chapter 83k word fic in just 26 days.
You can read The Most Wonderful Time of the Year here if you are interested.
Here’s the summary: John wants to make this Christmas season magical for Rosie. Sherlock wants to make John (and Rosie) happy.
Both of them are determined to have the best December ever. If only they could get any of the festive activities to go right.
In short, a story about two idiots who are in love and all of the ways that the things we fill the holiday season with are not what's important.
Here’s a peak into Chapter One: December 1st: Tis The Season
“But it’s the fourth one this week!” Greg complained, staring forlornly at the jewelry display case that had been smashed open with what John had imagined was a cricket bat, but Sherlock had informed them had actually been a rolling pin.
“And they aren’t related,” Sherlock replied, repeating what he’d told the detective inspector only moments ago. “Tis the season and all that nonsense,” he said as he started to pull his gloves back onto his hands, a sight that always made something in the pit of John’s stomach warm for some unfathomable reason.
Swallowing down the thought of Sherlock's hand sliding into warm leather, John said, “That’s not what that phrase is supposed to mean,” with a small frown at the other man.
Sherlock shrugged, “Well it’s still true. December has the highest amount of violence, domestic abuse, and theft.”
“And suicides,” Lestrade added.
“That," Sherlock informed them, "is actually a common misconception." He took off toward the front of the shop without pausing to finish the thought, “If there is anywhere in the year that we see an uptick in the number of suicides, according to the data, it’s in the Spring,” he called over his shoulder.
“Huh,” John said, watching where he was stepping so he could pick through the glass strewn across the floor.
“Right,” Greg said ruefully, following them to the front of the shop. “Well, that doesn’t help me with this burglary in the slightest,” he said with a sigh.
“Do you want to know what I think?” Sherlock asked.
“Does he have a choice?” John replied wryly.
Sherlock shot him a grin before saying, “I would just leave well enough alone. Let them have the jewelry, let the insurance company take care of it. It’s Christmas and consumerism is probably what drove your thieves to steal in the first place.”
He pushed open the door and John gave Greg a quick wave and a sympathetic smile as he followed Sherlock outside. “That’s not what it’s about, you know.”
“Consumerism? Of course it is-”
“No,” John said, quickly halting Sherlock’s reply. “I’m sure you’re right about that, if there wasn’t such pressure to buy expensive presents or to have the newest, shiniest gadgets there would be a lot fewer robberies. I meant that ‘Tis the Season’ is meant to be about Christmas and the joy of the holiday season.”
Sherlock scoffed, “Yes, yes. The joy of consumerism and greed.”
“No," John protested. "It's about, you know," he said waving a hand vaguely, "the joy of family and loved ones. Of a fire in the hearth and a decorated tree. Of good food and good company.”
“John there is often a fire in the hearth regardless of the season, you are allergic to the mold spores that come in on pine trees, and you only enjoy company about a third of the time. I think a third of the time might be a a bit generous,” Sherlock mused, "you're more introverted than people would assume."
He bumped him with his shoulder and shoved his hands into his pockets, “There is just supposed to be something magical about Christmas, you know?”
“My parents always thought so,” Sherlock replied.
John's parents hadn’t seemed to think that, but John didn’t say so, instead he said, “Look Rosie is almost five this year, this is supposed to be a magical time for Christmas for her.”
Sherlock was quiet for a moment.
John hurried on, lest he lose his nerve, “I want her to have a magical Christmas. I want her to have something to look back on when she's older. And," he swallowed and looked down at his shoes, "I’d really like you to do Christmas things with us, is all I’m trying to say.” He swallowed, “My parents didn’t,” he broke off, not wanting to finish that thought. “And I never really imagined-” he trailed off again, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just don’t think I can do this alone,” he confessed.
“You’re not,” Sherlock said softly, coming to a stop on the sidewalk and turning to face John. Instinctively John turned to look at him. “You don’t have to do it alone," Sherlock repeated. "I will try not to be such an unpleasant arse,” he said with a small twitch of the corner of his lips.
"I was thinking more of calling you a Scrooge, but unpleasant arse works just as well," John said as he turned and started walking again.
Sherlock chuckled and resumed walking beside him.
“Thank you,” John added sincerely, glancing over at Sherlock under his eyelashes.
“Well,” Sherlock said, ducking his head in the way that he always did when John said thank you and he didn’t know how to receive the words gracefully, “Don’t thank me yet. I can’t promise that I won’t muck everything up.”
But John wasn’t worried. Quite the opposite, in fact. He trusted Sherlock Holmes to help raise his daughter (they’d been living with him again for almost two years at this point, Sherlock had proven himself as much a parent to Rosie as he himself was) and if there was one thing he was quite sure of it was that Sherlock Holmes would move heaven and earth for Rosie Watson.
For the first time since he’d been very young, John found himself looking forward to the Christmas season and all that it might bring.
Not an ask, more of a comment: I read “I’ll follow you into the Dark” and OMFG. It added at least four years to my life; it’s beautifully written and heartfelt and so fucking touching and the sexy times were sexy times indeed. I’m so glad I saw your post about it; if I ever wrote something as masterful and fucking fantastic as that, I’d self-promo too. Thank you so much for your contribution to the Sherlock fandom; you’re making so many people out there so happy. ❤️
Ummmm. This might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. 😭 Thank you so much! ❤️
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
I wrote a thing (and am trying to get better about sharing it in multiple places).
Summary: "There were certain things that Sherlock didn’t want to say out loud. It was part of the fun. For instance, he didn’t want to have to tell John when to tie him up and have his way with him, he wanted John to figure it out (and much to his credit, John usually did). He didn’t want to tell John when he wanted to give him a blow job, he wanted to be able to drop to his knees and simply start sucking John’s cock (and again, to John’s credit, he usually allowed it with very little protest no matter what he was doing).
But there was one thing that Sherlock truly struggled to get John to do without having to verbalize it, and that was spank him. He’d loved it when John spanked him, he loved how hot and embarrassed he got when John had tugged him over his knee and jerked his pants down to smack his bottom until it was red and hot. He loved the way John talked to him, told him he was a naughty boy, it was mortifying and even the thought of it made Sherlock hard as a rock.
The effect of the embarrassment, however, was completely ruined if Sherlock had to ask for it first."
Or: a fic in which Sherlock gets his way and gets spanked. (Fair Warning: it's literally just 7k of smut.)
So as of today, there are 100 people who subscribe to me on AO3. Which is incredible to me, like, 100 people want to know when I write something. 100 strangers enjoy reading the random Johnlock plot bunnies that get stuck in my head so much that they want to know when I post a new one, regardless of what it is.
This probably doesn’t seem like a big deal to a lot of people, but I never imagined that there would be that many people who even read a single fic I posted- let alone people from around the world (who delight me by telling me where they are from when they comment.) I could never have imagined that my works would have over 85,000 hits, or that my fics would be bookmarked over 1,400 times.
But more than that, when I started posting works two and a half years ago, I couldn’t have imagined the kindness that would surround me there. I couldn’t have anticipated the outpouring of love and support for the things that I write. I couldn’t have imagined the way people love and care about me. I couldn’t have imagined the way that love would carry me through a very dark time.
So whether you’ve subscribed/commented/given kudos to one of my works or not, you should know that those things matter to authors. If you are one of the people who leaves encouragement on fics in any form, you should know how impactful it is and how grateful we are. If you are one of those lovely, amazing humans, from the very bottom of my heart, thank you. 💕
