So I was starting realize that I have a lot of ideas that I'd love to share on tumblr... so this is where I keep my stupid fanfics, prompts and whatevers pertaining to such things.
I am a huge fan of random fic-inducing things; pictures, songs, actual prompts. I enjoy them from time to time, so feel free to send something my way. <3
This is totally unedited, as always. See something? PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE say something.
Moran was alone.
Well, not alone if you counted the impressive weaponry that he was currently disassembling and lovingly cleaning each section of. He caressed the thing as though it were a lover, trailing fingers and cloth across it as if to coax it into loving him back.
Sherlock and John
by William Shakespeare
John appears above at a window
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the skull, and John is the Lion.
Arise, energetic Lion, and flick the poised iPhone.
See, how he leans his finger upon his lips!
O, that I were a glove upon those lips,
That I might touch that finger!
O Sherlock, Sherlock! wherefore art thou Sherlock?
What’s in a name? That which we call an elbow
By any other name would smell as grating
Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say “like the sweetest of candies gracing my tongue and giving me joy”
And I will take thy word; yet if thou swear’st,
Thou mayst prove indecisive.
Swain, by yonder poised iPhone I swear
That tips on a bed the brilliant door—
O, swear not by the iPhone, the surreal iPhone,
That snarkily changes in its cumbersome orb,
Lest that thy love prove likewise cumbersome.
Sweet, erotic night! A thousand times erotic night!
Parting is such repetitive sorrow,
That I shall say erotic night till it be morrow.
Sleep dwell upon thy finger, peace in thy lips!
Would I were sleep and peace, so suggestively to rest!
invitingly will I to my energetic elbow’s cell,
Its help to flick, and my grating elbow to tell.
What if Sherlock Season 3 was like PS I LOVE YOU?
So this person made that post. Not totally true to what they proposed. It’s just what my brain puked out.
I apologize for the tense derp. I couldn’t fix it. This is also totally unedited. See any errors, PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE tell me. And message me if there’s any way for the tense issues to be fixed.
Though it was the middle of the night, Sherlock scribbled furiously at a piece of paper, which was positioned rather awkwardly upon the short coffee table in front of him. It was a dreadfully uncomfortable way to write, but the man didn’t care. His eyes bore into the paper, his fingers clutched the pen in his hand as though it were a life line.
This was important.
He has told himself this over and over again as the words spilled over the page. There is so much to say in this letter, and it’s imperative that it be absolutely perfect.
At last, the dark-haired detective leans back from his uncomfortable hunch over the table, surveying his work with a cold stare, eyes zipping over the page. It’s a brief moment; he soon frowns and collects the paper, crumpling it up into the tightest ball he could manage before tossing it into the trash. The ball merely joins a rather impressive mountain of balls that have been forming over the wastebasket for the past hour.
Why couldn’t he get something as simple as a letterright?
Thankfully, he’d already conquered the greeting. ‘Dear John’ had been too formal. ‘Dearest John’ too… too. There was something not right about that either. So at last, he’d opted for ‘John’. Not too emotional but not cold either. It was appropriate.
The actual message had been more of a challenge. While the man wanted to do his best to comfort John, Sherlock could not risk tipping his hand and revealing his true state of being. No matter what, John had to believe that this letter was Sherlock’s suicide note.
So again and again he wrote and revised. How much emotion to put in? Should he bring up the scandal surrounding his death? It was hard to decide. At last he settled upon telling John what not to do; don’t give up, don’t stop living. He was intent upon keeping his blogger alive and well.
Thus the purpose for the letter,he thought. Whenever Molly came home, she always reported about John. It was a part of the routine they’d settled into, and Sherlock had never once asked. She merely told him, and for the past few weeks what he had been hearing had severely disturbed him.
John was showing all the signs of depression, and Sherlock knew all too well what depressed people did; he’d solved enough suicides to know. His throat tightened. The mere thought of John doing something… something as stupid as that…
He took a deep breath, forcing the feelings away. They were the same emotions he’d driven away when he’d found John strapped to explosives.
Focus, Sherlock, he told himself firmly, grappling with his fear and forcing it away.
He now just needed an ending. The final touch. But it eluded him just as fiercely as the other sections of the letter had. He penned lists of endings upon a separate sheet of paper. ‘Sincerely, SH’, ‘Your Friend, SH’, ‘Forever Yours, SH’. Wrong, wrong, wrong. They either said too much or too little. He even attempted ‘Love, SH’. It wrung childish in his mind, and he disdained sounding childish.
“Just SH, then,” he muttered darkly. Simple. John would think it sounded like him. Good. Very good. He added it to the final copy, tagging it on to the neat dark rows, writing it crookedly at the end.
And that was when a thought struck him, and he impulsively wrote it down as a post-script at the end.
Again, he pulled away to gaze at his handiwork, and frowned when he reached the ending.
No. Not right. Once more.
He rewrote the entire letter on a new paper, copying everything but his post-script down. At finishing this painstaking task, he moved the letter to the corner of the table, all the while staring at the original version of the document. Or, rather, staring at the hastily-written post-script of the final document.
P.S. I love you.
What had possessed him to write that? The words were true; they resonated painfully in his head, heart and soul, sitting there like an ache, lacing Sherlock’s thoughts about one John Watson… But only a fool would put such things in a final letter.
Love did funny things. Another thing that Sherlock had learned over the years; love was a variable that was unpredictable at best. He’d seen many a case where jealously and loss of love had lead people to do crazy things. He’d not add that unpredictability to John’s future, no matter how much he longed to let the other man know how he felt.
As the man stood, he picked up this post-scripted letter. He dwelt upon it for a few seconds before crushing it between his hands and tossing it amongst his other rejects, which he would have to burn. Tomorrow, he thought, pacing the floor as he mentally went through his message yet again.
He didn’t believe there were any mistakes. Not really. But for John, he’d check and double check this note into oblivion.
P.S. Sherlock thought, heart momentarily catching in his throat. I love you.
I have a list of fifteen characters from multiple fandoms. But you don’t get to know who. Send me a prompt with at least one number 1-15 and I’ll write a short ficlet based on that prompt with the corresponding character(s).
example: 2 and 12 are stuck in an elevator together for eight hours.
GUYZ. DOOOOO EEEEET. DO IT NOW.
GUYZ SUMMUN ASKED ME TO WRITE FEMLOCK SMUT TODAY. AND I TRIED. BECAUSE I LOVE THIS GIRL. AND. I. COULDN’T.
I FEEL LIKE SUCH A FAILURE RIGHT NOW. YOU HAVE NO IDEA.
I’M JUST NOT A SMUT WRITER. AND THAT MAKES ME SAD.
Perhaps not so literal from Play/Musical to Fic, but a fic with very, very similar sensibilities. I mean, listen to the musical’s soundtrack. I feel like there are some parts that really smack of these two, and I’d love for there to be a fic that really embodies that.
Like, they’re both teens, both are really unsure what sex and sexuality are, they just know that they really care for each other, and it’s when things get hot and heavy that things get crazy for them. The adults wouldn’t approve (especially considering the whole “homosexual” thing), even though it’s their fault that neither boy really understood that what they were doing was what “sex” was.