Sherlock, Good Omens, reading, writing, hiking, singing, and polishing guillotines. Reblogging the wonderful world of tumblr: tagging me helps me reblog your art, fic, photos, etc. 🤍
Summary: John and Sherlock marry without witnesses, church, or state. [This continues Ch. 100, which is short enough to reread if you ... you know. Ch. 103 will be ]
*
I grasp Sherlock’s elbows, not his hands, which I watch startle and then settle. In the millisecond before I open my mouth to speak, a hundred memories push in to stop time.
His hands on his violin, on the bow. His calluses, known by touch and by heart.
His hand cuffed to mine in the most terrifying chase of our whole, terror-rich career.
His hands gripping mine when we strain and thrust to melt the boundary between us.
His hands newly scoured by some caustic chemical or other, the small wounds a matter of indifference to him but not to me.
His hands, dexterous as a magician’s (illusionist, John, he’d say impatiently, magic isn’t real), quick and precise as a surgeon’s.
His hands, the unseeing version of those mercurial eyes: both are like no one else’s, hungry for data that they can shuttle to the sense-making organ faster than most people can even register its presence.
read the rest of Ch. 102 on AO3
*
The @fluffbruary prompts for June were grove, arbor, and formal, and a glorious patch of crocuses. June blew past me so um here we are.
Thanks for reblogging--let me know if I should tag or untag you.
If Sherlock and John are both wet,
They’ll know just which present to get.
Although each one is
Marked with “His” and “His”
They’ll probably share them, I bet.
'Tis a Gift is on AO3.
I wonder if you think you know
What gift that could be? Well, if so,
Please share it with me
And fill me with glee
By putting your guess down below!
Since I'm taking my time with my second Fandom Trumps Hate story, I've decided to give you all a small teaser. I won't give the title away yet, but the prompt from the brilliant @totallysilvergirl was that John can sing. Really sing. And he's managed to keep it a secret. Even from Sherlock! Yes, that's right.
As is my wont, I always rec fics (influenced long ago by my lovely recipient) and to my astonishment, I found that there are very few fics with this topic. Another reason to write one.
Excerpt:
John’s blog.
Anniversary Post
Congratulations to me on my tenth blog post! I know for a fact that the main character I’m writing about won’t even notice, but to me it is kind of a milestone. If you think that this is the tenth case I’ve been privy to, you’re wrong. Not every case is worth writing about. Some of them are actually classified if you can believe it. Shh…
If you are a regular reader, you know how this normally goes – clients and/or the police want Sherlock to help with their predicament. This time, though, things were slightly different.
I got an email from an acquaintance I hadn’t spoken to – nor thought of – in years. Claire Burnell nee Turnbull who I went to school with back in the day, has moved up in the world apparently. She is now the lady of Matfen Hall: Northumberland’s only five-star hotel. In fact, it is also a spa and a golf resort. Very posh going by the website, which is extensive. Or excessive, as Sherlock described it.
Anyway.
A little digression – you all know how heedful Sherlock is of his brain capacity, which is why I was utterly befuddled when he seemed to know Claire’s sister, Chloe. I only remember her as a clingy eight-year-old, but of course, she’s a grown woman now. And an acclaimed classical pianist. Hence Sherlock’s knowledge, I suppose.
Having read the email, I was quite certain I would have to disappoint Mrs Burnell – the case was a five at best – and Sherlock refuses to even leave the flat for less than a seven. If we were to help with this one, though, we’d have to leave London for the rural parts of Northumberland. My hopes weren’t high, but for the sake of my previous relations to Mrs Burnell, I decided to at least ask Sherlock when he got home from wherever he was at that particular moment. He sure wasn’t at Tesco to get milk, I can tell you that much!
I won’t bore you all with Sherlock’s deductions about my previous relationship with Claire Turnbull (now Burnell) – let’s just say they were just as substantial as Matfen Hall’s website.
To my utter befuddlement, Sherlock readily agreed to take the case.
“You do realise we need to travel to Northumberland, yes?” I asked, just to be sure he’d understood what it would entail to solve Mrs Burnell’s plight.
“Don’t be obtuse, John!”
And that was apparently that, because the next day we were on the 8.30 train from King’s Cross, which would reach Newcastle a little after 11 a.m.
Hi! I hope things are going good with you, hopefully you aren't battling this awful heat! 🥵
I was wondering if you (or anyone) knows what the name of this fic might be, and where I could find it?
It might be a 5 + 1, but I can't really remember. It was from Sherlock’s POV, and was about the different times he was going to tell John he was alive after the fall, but something always stopped him. I know the first time was at the cemetery, after he heard John wish he wasn't dead, and he was going to tell him, but he noticed that someone (one of the snipers maybe?) had followed John and Mrs. Hudson, and he decided it wasn't safe. There were other times like when he found out that John was in bad shape and not doing well; when John started doing dangerous things to get the adrenaline rush and as a release for his anger; when John started on a drunken "sexcapade" type of downslide being very promiscuous with men and women; etc. Every time Sherlock planned to tell John he was alive, and bring him in on the Lazarus plan, something stopped him. Whether it was due to danger to John or Sherlock got into some kind of bind and wasn't able to, or Mycroft stopped him. I don't remember how many different times he started to tell John, but the fic was somewhat on the longer side, probably at least 10k-20k. It was a Johnlock ending and was kind of racy/explicit when they did get together, so probably at least a M or E rating.
That's all I can remember, and I haven't found it from my AO3 searches, so it may not be there for sure but I'm pretty sure it is. I hope I gave enough info that it's recognizable to someone! I've been breaking my brain trying to find it! 😂
Thank you in advance and for all of your hard work in the fandom!
Hi Nonny!!
Ahh, the heat OMG. It's off and on here... some weeks it gets to the low 40s, and others like today it's in the low 20s. But I still prefer summer over winter, honestly. Winters here are awful LOL.
ANYWAY, sorry, I genuinely don't know which fic this one is, though it does sound vaguely familiar. I might have it on one of my Five and One Lists:
OTTAWA — A small First Nations community in Ontario that was burned to the ground by a raging wildfire on Monday is being deprived of the he
A small First Nations community in Ontario that was burned to the ground by a raging wildfire on Monday is being deprived of the help it needs because the federal government doesn't recognize it as a First Nation, the community's lawyer says.
And its chief says she didn't hear anything from Indigenous Services Minister Mandy Gull-Masty for nearly a week after the fire broke out.
Residents of Collins First Nation, a remote community without road access more than 200 kilometres north of Thunder Bay, were forced to self-evacuate earlier this week in advance of fast-moving fires.
a funny thing about having conversations with people within institutions (academic in this case but also others) about gatekeeping, is that you end up having a conversation over and over in which you're like, "hey this alligator spike pit moat you have erected around your institution is keeping a lot of people out," and they're like, "well *I* navigated the alligator spike pit moat just fine," and you're like, "right. by dint of us having this conversation, you within the institution and me without, it is understood that you navigated the alligator spike pit moat. due to that being an inherent requirement of entering the institution," and they're like, "I don't think you understand the prestigious history of our alligator spike pit moat," and you're like, "is there a reason why there needs to be an alligator spike pit moat encircling the concept of higher education?" and they're like, "look, the alligator spike pit moat isn't for everyone. some people just aren't cut out for the alligator spike pit moat :)" and you're like, "right, yeah, like disabled people and people coming from poverty or unstable home environments or underserved communities or people dealing with difficult to navigate life events like pregnancy or abuse or prison or addiction or the death of a loved one, for example" and they're like, "how dare you imply that we are keeping those people out on purpose. it's their own problem if they can't wrestle the alligators and avoid the spikes while also disabled and/or poor and/or pregnant etc" and you're like, "well that seems evil," and they're like, "it sounds like maybe you're just bitter about the alligator spike pit moat because of your totally random individual experience with ONE bad alligator spike pit moat. have you considered therapy?" and you're like, "did you know that there's some patterns here in terms of how y'all are handling this stuff?" and they're like, "actually yes. we even have a department of alligator spike pit studies :)" and you're like, "that's great, how do I get access to and participate in those conversations?" and they're like, "well firstly you must cross the alligator spike pit moat"
if you can document that you have a medical condition that might make it challenging for you to navigate the alligator spike pit moat, they'll give you an extra 20 minutes to complete your navigation of the alligator spike pit moat
IMPORTANT: any injuries incurred as a result of navigating the alligator spike pit moat will be the sole responsibility of the injured parties. once you leave, the people who made you navigate the alligator spike pit moat and the institution that installed the alligator spike pit moat will never contact you again. except sometimes to ask you for more money.
A great many people who crossed the same alligator spike pit moats as me told me it's wasn't that bad, and then casually revealed they were gifted grandpa's spike-proof suit and had alligator-charming lessons starting in toddlerhood, and mom's map of the spike layout to study. They thought this was normal, and genuinely believed they had navigated the alligator spike pit moat without an unusual amount of assistance.
As a corollary, the alligator spike pit moat does not, in fact, weed out unserious and/or terminally mediocre individuals, because many of those people have been gifted alligator-grappling tools and spike-resistant boots. Alligators and spikes deter a great many enthusiastic, hardworking, and talented people who don't have a bunch of fancy protective gear and extensive training in alligator spike pit navigation.
As a second corollary, I am very grateful for the unusual amount of assistance I received in crossing the alligator spike pit moat.
A disturbing number of people did, in fact, acknowledge that the alligator spike pit moat was intended to keep people like me away from people like them and loudly expressed their displeasure that I was not eaten by alligators. One of them used the word 'besmirch'.
An equally disturbing number of people have attempted to use my successful navigation of the alligator spike pit moat as proof that my kind are not being kept out on purpose-- if I navigated it, everyone else is clearly just being lazy. Many of these people seemed to hope that my adventure in the alligator spike pit moat would make me see their point of view re: the alligator spike pit moat being necessary to ensure meritocracy bootstraps were happening in a meritorious and bootstrappy manner. It did the opposite.
TLdr: I have two STEM degrees from institutions known for the viciousness of the alligators and sharpness of the spikes in their alligator spike pit moats. This is not sour grapes. Fuck the alligator spike pit moat.
Stephen "Dimestore Goebbels" Miller out there talking about "leftists don't look like normal people." Dude, you ever seen your Nosferatu-looking ass in the mirror?
As the World Cup comes to a close, learn more about the rich history of football and resistance to capitalism and authoritarianism in the football collection in our online store!
You'll find everything from books about grassroots opposition to the greed and corruption of the modern game, to merch commemorating mutinies and an iconic moment of footballing anti-fascism.
All proceeds fund our work, so if you want to support us, and learn more about radical politics and the beautiful game, then check out the link below:
https://shop.workingclasshistory.com/collections/all/football
I highly recommend the book The Five: The Untold Lives of the Women Killed by Jack the Ripper by Hallie Rubenhold and the free podcast, Bad Women (S1) by Pushkin which covers the same material (though the book has more detail).
It's not about the crime or Jack the Ripper, it's about the women who were killed, the majority of whom were not connected with the sex trade at all. Their lives are fascinating and so full of different experiences. The book is an amazing window into the lives of lower/middle class women and their struggles.
Though it's set in the Victorian era, the ways these women and others in poverty were treated and thought of is hauntingly familiar. Disability and mental health problems are a major factor in many of the women's lives as well.
Also, the British military backdated someone's marriage so their kids would be legitimate and I find that strangely satisfying.
"Tattoos are becoming unpopular", "piercings are unpopular again", "keep your hair natural never dye it again, it's the trend now" literally fuck off I know what y'all are doing
Every time someone comments on my old fic, i feel like I'm an old actor getting paid residuals. Appreciate you, old-fic-commenters. Key source of emotional income, tbh.
Silvergirl @totallysilvergirl - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
