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Good Omens Fancomic Tartan and Starlight! Part 1
I ran this in May 2020, and it’s now collected up.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
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Good Omens Fic Rec: Boyfriend Debut
It’s fucking on camera. It’s not that complicated.
Length: 20,045 words
AO3 Rating: Explicit / Spice Level 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥
Best for: After Dark, Human AU, Pick-me-Up
Triggers: None
Read it here, fic by snae_b
*Minor Spoilers* It's for purely professional fic reviewer reasons that I've reread this fic multiple times, it's my job after all, nothing weird about it. Truly it's my professional interest only that brought me back, not the idea of these two very skilled porn stars finding something completely new and fulfilling in each other. Certainly not their overwhelming chemistry and trust in each other. Ok, bit over. I love this story. It's sexy, it's romantic, its fun. It's a unique setting that shouldn't work for Aziraphale and yet of course it does. Our pair are professional porn actors here. Aziraphale is known for being a generous and supportive scene partner, and Crowley has been pigeonholed into this Dom Top persona that isn't what he truly desires. When they are paired for a shoot together, the sparks fly. It's filthy, but also so tender and sweet. Lots of flirting and banter that should be for the cameras, but is earnest and real. This is tons of fun and I would absolutely love to spend more time with this specific iteration. I know they are going to have such a fun and loving time together!
Read it here, fic by snae_b
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I've always loved the thought of their Arrangement being sealed as a handfasting (so they've technically been married for centuries)
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The idea of a creature whose "duty" is to "gift" someone with bad dreams is unsettling—but that the poor recipient cannot refuse her is even more so.
Nicely evocative, disturbing in its imagery (I picture Nightmare with scales and a cunning disposition). Wow.
Not Yet
Nightmare has a regular drop
At Watson's house she lands atop
Her gifts of bad dreams
Always lead him to screams
She knows her duty and won't stop
Check it out on ao3!
@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @weeesi @friday411
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quick doodle to distract myself from new job anxiety/tiredness
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“things I really want to see Benedict Cumberbatch wearing.” ②
If Sherlock ……WOW！
Inspiration from → Click me ←
Oh, I have repeatedly done so, the Chinese cheongsam, pirate uniforms, military uniforms, fashion brand…..
I like a father, like want to give their children put on a variety of beautiful clothes ..
I hope this series can go on ….
I hope I can continue to draw!❤
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mayprompts2024,#14 eavesdropping
Look at this! Two fills for the prompt today!
Got infested with the limerickitis
and came up with this
++++++++++++
Sherlock was never eavesdropping
What he did was mind-hopping
First listen inside people’s brains
Unveiling their pleasures and pains
Then telling them loudly was heart-stopping
++++++++++++
tagging some people @calaisreno @lisbeth-kk @peanitbear @totallysilvergirl @raina-at
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Oh no, no, no!
May 13 - Laugh
I'm sorry I missed yesterday. I've been visiting my parents, so I've had no time to write. So we have a double bill today!
Tomorrow's will be a biggie.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It had been a long time since he'd had a 'danger night'. It hadn't been hard to resist the siren call of the drugs since solving the case to 'Save John Watson'. He had finally admitted years ago that he had been an addict. He had also admitted that he would always be recovering and that he would never truly eradicate the need for them, like a niggling itch in the back of his mind. A big enough catalyst could undo it all.
Helping John to raise little Watson had helped. She gave his life focus and made him be the best version of himself just for her. And John. The years had only strengthened his feelings, yet he had still never plucked up the courage to say anything, to risk everything they had for more. Now, it was looking like he might never get the chance. The intervening days between the argument and the letter had shown that, if anything, things were getting worse rather than better.
He missed them. He missed the sound of Rose's laugh and the feel of a house filled with life. With cooking smells and the detritus of life scattered about. Of homework being completed and bedtime routines. Of companionship and love.
The desire for oblivion called louder and louder. He knew he mustn't break.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
May 14 - Eavesdrop
Air. He needed air. To breathe deeply through his nose, to count to ten and hold the anger inside before he did anymore damage. Thumping the wall had been the release valve inside, yet more anger needed to vent. He was furious.
He marched down the street, too angry to hail a cab or descend the Underground. He needed space and time to calm down before being subjected to people.
He knew it had been wrong to eavesdrop on the conversation. To listen to what Sherlock was saying. His brain filled in the other half of the phone call, and Sherlock didn't dispute anything. So, he must have inferred correctly. How could he have been anything other than angry at finding out his best friend was abandoning him again? Was making plans that didn't involve him and Rose. He thought that after all they had been through, he had at least earned the courtesy of a heads-up that something so life-changing was about to happen.
To think, he'd been planning on telling him. That maybe, after all these years, there was potential for them to be...
It didn't matter. That was clearly off the cards now. Just going back to being friends seemed an impossibly long way off.
As the distance from Sherlock increased, his heart felt increasingly battered and bruised.
For @calaisreno's May Prompt Challenge. Tags in the comments. If you would like tagging, let me know. All previous chapters can be found here.
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mayprompts2024 #14, eavesdropping
Read parts 1-10 on AO3 here
The Bed Shop AU continues. YAY!
++++++
The Perfect Place - Part Eleven
John gazed out of the taxi’s window. He watched London passing by without actually seeing it, deeply lost in thought. Once again, John was back in Afghanistan and remembered the day he was shot, when everything had changed. The day that had ended his life without taking his life.
John hoped that today was the day that would change his life again by giving it back to him. Making Sherlock Holmes’ acquaintance had already revived him. John looked at his hand and found no tremor. Then, John startled. He suddenly realized that he had forgotten his walking stick and also, that he could not remember when he had used it the last time.
Sherlock fixed his eyes on John. Grinning, he said, “You left it in the shop. Didn’t need it since we were testing the bed.” Since I made a show of dry humping it and totally distracted you from the psychosomatic limp.
“Dear God, it’s like you’ve been eavesdropping in my brain,” John exclaimed. “How did you know what I was thinking?”
“I observed that you looked surprised, then touched your bad knee and were feeling around with your other hand. I deduced you were wondering about what happened to the cane now that your limp is gone.”
John looked at Sherlock in awe, licking his lips. “Amazing!” I want to kiss you now, he thought.
“That’s not what people usually say.” Mesmerized, Sherlock watched the tongue moistening John’s lips. They looked very kissable.
“What do they usually say?” John asked and leant a bit closer to Sherlock.
“You’re a creepy freak.” Some kind of magnetism drew Sherlock closer to John, too.
“Wrong!” John said sternly, “You’re not.” You’re brilliant and handsome and so kissable, John thought, and felt amazing when I spooned you in the bed. When you made me spoon you, John’s brain corrected itself, but I’d do it again any time you’d ask.
“Please ask me.” John begged. Oops, did I just say that out loud?
“What do you want me to ask?” Sherlock looked puzzled. “Erm, Afghanistan or Iraq?” Sherlock scratched his chin, feeling sheepish. “The one thing I couldn’t deduce so far.”
“Afghanistan.” John inched a bit closer towards Sherlock. “How?” He whispered.
Sherlock began to explain about tan lines and military posture, getting shot and suffering from trembling and limping. “Ergo, ex-army doctor, wounded in action.” He found that his body had moved towards John’s, too. Only five inches separated them now.
“Fantastic!” John breathed.
“Seems like you’ve only needed some thrill in your life to make the limp and tremor go away.” I'll give you what you crave, every day, in abundance. Be my flatmate, John. (Wedding bells chimed loudly in the Mind Palace.)
I need you in my life, John thought but said, “Seems like it, yeah.”
They were now so close that they could feel the other’s breath on their face. John discovered a tiny brown spot in one of Sherlock’s otherwise blue and grey eyes. Sherlock discovered the tiny scar below John’s ear where the Afghan sniper’s second bullet had missed its target. John inhaled and slightly opened his mouth. Sherlock exhaled and dipped his head downward, staring at John’s lips.
“Here we are, 221b Baker Street,” the cabbie cried out.
In this moment, John wanted to shoot the man straight in the head, fiddling with the gun in his pocket and cursing that there were no rounds in it.
+++++
tagging some people @calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @lisbeth-kk @peanitbear @raina-at
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Kiss Me Better
for @calaisreno’s March prompts: Nightmare
Sherlock was stirred awake by the sound of John’s footsteps coming toward his bedroom. John wasn’t a particularly heavy stepper, but Sherlock had long ago memorized the different speeds and pressures in his stride dependant on mood.
John’s upset, Sherlock deduced. He sat up in bed, unsure of what would greet him when his bedroom door opened. Is he mad at me? We had a good day today. So…
“Sherlock, are you awake?” John’s voice was shaky.
“Yes, John, are you alright?” Sherlock decided it was best to start as he meant to go on. “Come in, I’m decent,” he tried to make John laugh.
It didn’t quite work.
John entered Sherlock’s bedroom, shutting the door and turning on one of his standing lamps. “I, um. The dreams are back,” he shook his head. “They’re getting worse, somehow. I can’t understand it.”
Sherlock regarded him sympathetically. “Come on, come here. Tell me what happened this time,” he shifted the duvet on the free side of his bed for John to slip into. John hadn’t always been so comfortable with this display of affection, but when the dreams got bad, he’d learned that it was okay to seek refuge with Sherlock.
John sighed into Sherlock’s mattress. “I forget how much nicer yours is to mine,” he remarked.
“We can go shopping for a replacement,” Sherlock offered. “Might help you sleep better.” He shifted onto his side, propped on his elbow against his pillow. “What was it this time?”
“More of the same, but different this time,” John rubbed his tired face. “You fall from the roof at Bart’s, and you’re not quite dead yet…” he couldn’t look at Sherlock. “But this time, I get to you, and instead of trying to save you, I… Sherlock, I beat you to death, this time.” He felt tears caught in his throat, and his chest heaved with stuttered breathing. “Why would I do that to you?” He drew his knees up to his chest.
Sherlock sighed. “Who knows,” he hummed in thought. “Have you— John, is there something you’re not telling me? Have I upset you somehow, in maybe some small way that’s just… gone on too long without being addressed?” He wondered. “Have we— have we done enough to try and get back to the way things were before I died?” He touched John’s arm, trying to get him to meet his eyes. “Are we really— are we really alright, John?” He reached out to touch John’s chin, turning his head toward him. “John, you have to be honest with me. I can take it. So please,” he inhaled sharply, bracing himself. “Tell me the truth.”
John’s eyes glassed. Something in him seemed to crack, and it showed on his face. “I don’t know if I’ve— god, Sherlock, of course I forgive you, but I— what if I haven’t? Does that even make sense?” He shook his head. “I’m not angry any more. I know the night you came home was… less than ideal,” he bit his lip, remembering how he’d nearly broken Sherlock’s nose. “But I’m so glad you’re back. You’re home. You came back to— you came back to me. How could I be mad at you for that?”
Sherlock was at least relieved to know that this was as confusing for John as it was for him. He recalled a deduction he’d made when they first met, and wondered if now might be the right time. “John, you remember the day we met,” he started, not needing to wait for an answer. “I’d deduced you down to the ground, but I didn’t tell you everything.” He felt a little guilty now. “John, do you— do you love me?” He asked carefully.
John froze. Do I love… he exhaled slowly, wondering what to say. “If I say yes, what does that have to do with my horrid dreams?” He looked sidelong at Sherlock now. “If I say yes, what do I do? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable with how I—”
Sherlock leaned in and kissed John’s cheek. When John didn’t pull away, Sherlock turned John’s face toward him and kissed him properly, chastely. Slowly.
John stopped having those nightmares from that night on.
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Day 7 of IneffableMay2024 is Coffee!
For Aziraphale and Crowley, this is the best part of waking up! ☕️💋
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Good Omens Fic Rec: Of Size and other Matters
When Crowley gets a random text from an unknown number, he thinks it must be a joke at first. Turns out it's by a rather amusing stranger who might have an interesting matter at hand.
Aziraphale just wants to get an upcoming function over with and not have people trying to set him up with anyone. At least whoever accidentally received his message seems to take the mishap with humour.
Length: 28,204 words
AO3 Rating: Explicit / Spice Level 🔥🔥🔥🔥
Best for: At Home, After Dark, Human AU, Comedy
Triggers: None
Read it here, fic by LCwrites
*Minor Spoilers* This is an excellent wrong number to fake relationship story. The mash up of these tropes is so fun. Aziraphale has just gotten a new phone you see, so of course the suggestive message he meant for his friend Tracy is instead sent to a complete stranger. This author has an excellent voice for Aziraphale. Very witty and in character, with a flirtation in him that comes through now and again. There is a secret he whispers into Crowley's ear that had me on the floor. It's not even fully told to us (it’s mostly an "off camera" scene) and yet the tension got to me so much I had to look away for a second! Crowley is very suave here, he knows how to read people and his interactions with Gabriel are a real highlight. He clearly knows which of Gabriel's buttons to press! Those aren't the only buttons he presses though, as fate would have it, Crowley can provide exactly the thing that Aziraphale desires. The sex in this written as skippable, but I think it is the main course of this story. Their push and pull is very thrilling. This author has an excellent grip on their compatibly and passion for each other.
Read it here, fic by LCwrites
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May Prompts (14)
Day 13 here.
Eavesdropping
It’s obvious he’s eavesdropping.
At least he thinks it is. He’s a shit actor and this is Mycroft Holmes.
He’s been feigning sleep since Mycroft came into his room. He was lucky that he got a little warning in the form of Mycroft loudly admonishing some unlucky soul in the hallway.
Initially he wasn’t faking as some big act of subterfuge—he just really didn’t want to bother talking to the elder Holmes. It’s exhausting at the best of times. His head hurts enough already.
He had expected that Mycroft would take one look at the bed, understand the brush off and then leave. But Mycroft didn’t leave. Although that shouldn’t have been much of a surprise, really. Mycroft (and Sherlock for that matter) rarely do what’s expected.
Instead, Mycroft had taken out his mobile and made a phone call. At that point, the feigning sleep became a ploy to eavesdrop.
Mycroft must know.
He may only be able to hear half the conversation but it is abundantly clear that Mycroft is talking about his safety. Asking about new security measures at the hospital and for updates on some staff interviews. All relatively innocuous, until the topic of conversation turns.
“What about the CCTV footage of the foot chase that landed Dr. Watson in hospital in the first place. Perhaps that will be more fruitful.”
A pause.
“No, my brother is unaware of the connection. He and Dr. Watson believe they were chasing a petty jewellery thief.”
Another pause and then a scoff.
“No. Unfortunately I am sure they will eventually make the link. But, we have some time before Sherlock mucks this up. I advise you make good use of that time.”
And then silence for a moment before he hears Mycroft footsteps and the click of his door opening.
“You’re welcome,” Mycroft says quietly.
John is a shit actor. He can’t keep from smiling. Still, he waits a moment before opening his eyes.
Mycroft is gone.
@keirgreeneyes @raina-at @totallysilvergirl @meetinginsamarra @jolieblack @phoenix27884 @friday411 @calaisreno @quimerasyutopias @lisbeth-kk @safedistancefrombeingsmart @momma2boys @helloliriels @dapetty
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Beeeees! ❤️
Chilean plasterer bee, Caupolicana fulvicollis, Colletidae
Photos 1-2 by pedrova, 3 by enriquezrenteria, 4-5 by cesar_picar, and 6 by edonoso
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