April 18, 2014



if you’re in the spn fandom and still haven’t seen this, son, you need to reconsider this decision

if you ever want someone to watch spn show them this holy shit

(Source: youtube.com)

April 17, 2014
Giveaway, signed script for BIRDLAND


So I’m thinking of doing a giveaway for Birdland, as my last two for Coriolanus and Mojo went quite well. My idea for this one was to get the script of Birdland signed by Andrew personalised to whoever wins (so he writes it to your name). Plus I can try and get the other…

April 17, 2014

(Source: james-ford, via greglestrade)

April 17, 2014

(Source: amypoeehler, via faramihr)

April 17, 2014










but he was:



So can we talk about the fact that that means there were 3 Rory’s in the world at the same time?

Lucky Amy

lucky world

(Source: starlorrd, via herosneverdie)

April 14, 2014

You’re now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!

You both like sherlock rp, and slavelock.

You: ((Werewolf!AU)) John Watson, a doctor by nature and a soldier by calling, was not the sort of man one would expect to find in a situation like this. Most people looked at his short stature and thin frame, heard his calm, kind voice, and dismissed him as an ordinary bloke. Few people saw the iron will hidden behind the jumpers. Even less could see, or were willing to believe, the wolf that was kept hidden beneath. The literal wolf at many times; his transformations nearly under complete control.
So yes, it was unexpected that John Watson would be the man caught, drugged and chained up like some common dog. Werewolves, captured and sold as guard dogs or house pets or even, John knew, bedmates. He shuddered, the thick metal around his wrists rattling. One of the slavers snarled at him. Apparently, the buyer they were waiting for was an important one and John had to be on his best behaviour. The fresh bruises on his torso and bullet wound in his shoulder reminded him of what happened when he wasn’t going along with his captors.

Stranger: All Sherlock had heard from his brother was that he’d be getting a live-in doctor after he had nearly OD’ed for the second time in as many months. It annoyed the detective to no end that he’d be getting a glorified babysitter within the day he had moved back into his flat after being released from the hospital, especially as his brother had taken extreme measures and ensured that his entire flat had been combed over for drugs. Even some of the stashes he had hidden in the walls were taken, and he flopped out on the bed, waiting for when his brother would come with the newest servant/doctor/pet/whatever Mycroft decided to call it. He just hoped that the doctor would be at least tolerable, and he looked up from where he was laying out when he heard the pair of footsteps walking up the stairs. He hummed softly as he looked over the smaller man, completely ignoring his brother’s words about how he did need to take care of him and that his monthly allowance would just have enough for bills and food. He turned over, sitting up and looking at him properly for a moment, smiling faintly. 
"Yes, thank you, Mycroft. Now kindly get out of my flat before I pull out those photos and release them to the press," he said, eyes flicking to his brother for a moment before resting on the somewhat battered-looking man in front of him.

You: John listened, keeping his head down but his eyes open. He could just see the retreating shoes off the man who had brought him, and then he was alone with the man he presumed to be his new owner. Well, that was quick. John waited, his shoulder screaming at him from the awkward position the handcuffs had forced him into. Not that he wouldn’t be able to deal with having his arms bounds, but honestly. Wasn’t it enough that he’d had his whole life story, the pain of being sent home from the war, the nightmares, how he wanted to go back. All of that had been exposed on the ride over and now John was left waiting. When he heard the last footsteps on the stairs, he cleared his throat. “What photos would those be?” He looked up finally.

Stranger: Sherlock shrugged as he looked at him, frowning as he moved to undo the handcuffs and he gently rubbed his wrists before letting him drop them to his side. “Photos of him and a bloke he met at a bar once. He tries to keep his sexuality very private, so photos of the meeting naturally wouldn’t be good,” he said, smirking faintly before he looked him over, humming softly. “Afghanistan or Iraq? And…you were bit before or after you left?” he asked, still carefully cataloguing the information he saw on him, only asking to clarify what he had picked up, or to gain more information to learn even more about him. This would be interesting. Not only had Mycroft ensured that he’d have a live-in doctor, but it was one that could obviously hold his own in a fight. Fascinating.

You: John snorted a little, because he couldn’t imagine mere photos doing anything to threaten the man he’d shared a car ride over with. “Before the war.” He rolled his shoulder, wincing a little at the movement, and then stretched his arms. God, but it felt so good to be moving again. He would never taken movement for granted again. “And Afghanistan.” He took his time study the man, unimpressed by his height, but not missing the tracks on his eyes or the way they were both studying each other. He knows how to fight, John’s soldier side supplied, while the doctor part of him was trying to figure out how much cocaine could be injected to get that sort of track pattern.

Stranger: Sherlock continued looking at him for a few moments, finally looking away before John did as he moved to the kitchen, wondering as to if he actually had any edible food or not in there. “I’m sorry for the state of the flat. I wasn’t told you would be coming until this morning, and I was in the hospital until an hour ago. Tea pot’s in the cupboard, and your limp will resolve itself in a few days, I’m sure, so you’ll be having the upstairs room. More spacious, and also more protected. I’m sure the soldier side will appreciate that. I hope you don’t mind the violin at odd hours either, as that will be happening often,” he said before grinning faintly as he looked over at him. “If you’d like something to eat, I’m sorry, but I really don’t have any food at all. Didn’t think much about that over the past week and a half. If you want to get cleaned up, feel free to do so, and we’ll head out to get you some proper clothes and food.”

You: John wants to protest that. His limp wouldn’t be going away in a few days, how did the man even know he had a limp and he certainly wasn’t going to sit down and be told what was happening with his life. “That’s it then?” He stood up, trying his best to not limp, because he didn’t want to give even that little admission. “We’ve barely just met, I don’t know a single thing about you, I don’t even know your name, and you want to live in a flat together?” Wait, hospital? Did he say hospital? Well, that cleared up some of what his brother had told John. Certainly made it more apparent why he would want a doctor to look after a junkie and not just put him in rehab. John moved towards the kitchen, doing him best not to show how much each step hurt his leg.

Stranger: Sherlock frowned as he looked at him, somewhat taken aback by that, and he nodded slightly. “Yes, of course that’s it. I wasn’t aware that you’d want to be anywhere else. I’ll be keeping you safe from getting captured once more, you’ll essentially act free so long as you live with me. I just ask that you help with groceries, but that’s it. Mycroft won’t let you leave,” he said before frowning at the slight limp in his leg. “Sherlock Holmes. Second son of a prominent family in England. Brother is Mycroft Holmes, who holds a minor position within the government, apparently. Anything else you need to know about me before you decide whether or not you’ll attempt your luck on the streets again?”

You: There’s a short moment where John considers it. Very short. Then he holds out his hand. “Doctor John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.” He doesn’t know if this is the best thing for him to be agreeing to - what guarantee does he have that Sherlock won’t turn out to be a slaver holder, but it’s what he’s got. And there’s something about how Sherlock pulled his military history out without being crass about it (minor government position, John’s left foot). John feels better about staying already. It doesn’t need saying, though he adds it on anyways. “Werewolf.”

Stranger: Sherlock looked at the hand before taking it, nodding slightly as he shook it before dropping it. “Drug addict. Specifically heroin and cocaine,” he said softly before glancing away from him, taking a deep breath. “You don’t have to worry about any of it being around here. It’s all gone. Used or gone by this point,” he said softly before returning to the couch, flopping on it before closing his eyes. “Just let me know if you want to go out or if you’re hungry. I’m going to just stay here for a while while I attempt to recover from the headache the hospital gave me,” he said, though he was still smiling faintly now that John was staying here with him.

You: ”I’m good.” John knew that he should be hungry. Haven’t eaten in thirteen hours, his brain provided. Gone longer without, John replied to his own thoughts. Instead, he went over to the bookcase, inspecting the haphazard method of sorting but appreciating the selection. The encyclopedia reminded him that he could get a subscription to the medical journals, if he was staying in one flat for that long. God, was he expected to help pay for things? He shook that out of his mind. Slaves don’t pay for rent or papers, even if they’re given the option of staying. He grabbed the paper off the table and sat down in the armchair, attempting without much success to lose himself in the recent events page.

Stranger: ”I apologize for you getting caught. It would have been better for the world if they had let you continue. You could have saved several lives at the hospital a few days ago, I’m sure,” Sherlock said softly, opening an eye as he heard the crackle of the paper. “I don’t know your reputation at all, but if you’re an army doctor, you’d have to be good. There was a minor shooting at a school. Murderer apprehended, but four children died. The doctors weren’t working fast enough,” he said softly before taking a deep breath. “If you’ve got any questions as to how this arrangement’s going to work, just ask. I won’t mind,” he said softly, mentally sorting out through contacts and deleting the ones that led to his drug dealers across the city. They were probably already paid off to keep him from returning to them, but still, he didn’t need the clutter taking up more room. “And how do you feel about excitement? I sometimes work as a consulting detective for Scotland Yard. I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of violent deaths.”

You: ”Enough to last me a lifetime.” John flipped to the page that held the events Sherlock was talking about, read the first few lines of the article, and closed the paper. Four children, and the doctors weren’t used to combat wounds. God, but he could have helped. Would have helped, if there wasn’t all those stupid laws preventing werewolves from being anything but someone else’s property. He couldn’t even renew his license and four little kids had died because civilian doctors couldn’t remove bullets fast enough. “Do you think your brother would object to me getting a job?” He spoke without looking at Sherlock, shaken by the news. He could have saved them, or at least one. The idea of running around with a consulting detective sounded better than staying in the flat. Hell, anything sounded better than doing nothing. “Or I could just work with you.”

Stranger: Sherlock grinned as he sat up, looking over at him. “I’m sure he could forge your records. And it would be useful to have a werewolf around helping me out. So long as you agree to stick around and keep me clean, which shouldn’t be too hard, I’m sure he’ll be happy to ensure that the world thinks you’re a human. Get a job, run around with me. You might save some more lives this way,” he said with a grin, thinking that this was going to be more enjoyable than what he thought. “I was already planning on treating you as though you were free, so I could attempt to convince my brother to get it written that way on paper as well.” He stood up, walking over to him for a moment before turning back to the window, humming softly. “I’ll have to call Lestrade and make sure he knows that I’m clean now…”

You: John set the paper aside, unable to contain his grin at the idea of being a (nearly) free man. A job. Saving lives. Being something other than looked down upon. God, how did he get so lucky? “Thank you.” John didn’t know which part excited him more. Paperwork, official paperwork, to hide his inhuman status. Or working alongside Sherlock. Either one sounded promising. “I don’t mind cleaning, and I can cook for both of us.” Then he looked around the flat and realized how messy it was. Too late to back out of cleaning though. He raised his eyes to Sherlock again. “Even if he doesn’t let you, thank you. It means a lot.”

Stranger: Sherlock smiled faintly at him before nodding, glad that John seemed to be decently happy with that. “Don’t worry too much about cleaning. Just what you want to do. I’ll try to clean up a bit. And…I’ll try to get the dishes clean. Most were used for experiments of some kind at one point or another, so they might not be completely sanitary now,” he said before frowning at the kitchen, sighing softly at that. “But cooking would be nice. Just whatever you’d like to do. I might have you buy food instead, but yeah. I appreciate this, John. You don’t realize how much this means to me as well,” he said, smiling faintly at John before looking down at the ground.

You: ”No.” John approached and carefully, oh so carefully, put his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. He stood back, not wanting to crowd the other man, knowing how much the space could be wanted. “Anywhere I go on this planet, I have to hide who I am. Either I hide away from the world and pretend that I don’t exist, or I make up excuses every month and hope someone doesn’t put things together. You’re offering far more than I am you. This is as close to freedom as I can get.” He squeezes the shoulder he holds, and knows how much of what he just said is true, though he had never expected to say the words. “Thank you, Sherlock. Thank you.”

Stranger: Sherlock stared at John before smiling faintly and he nodded, putting a hand over John’s in return. “I hope that you still think that I’m good after living with me. The past three flatshares ran off after two days, and that wasn’t even because of my drug habits,” he said, trying to lighten the mood slightly before he glanced around the flat and then outside the window once more, frowning at the car pulling up outside his door. “Apparently you get to run around with me sooner,” he said, wondering what this was to warrent Lestrade coming here without a major case around. “Let him in. I’ll be getting properly dressed. See what he wants. And you’re my flatshare, not my servant, no matter what your appearance suggests.”

You: ”Never doubted it.” John simply let his arm fall to his side, watching Sherlock move around and then getting out of his way. The doorbell rings and he leaves the room to answer it, taking the stairs two at a time and practically skipping across the hall. The silver haired man is reaching for the door when John opens it, but John steps aside. “Sherlock’s upstairs. Don’t know how he knew he wanted to let you in.” The other half of his sentence stays in his brain. /I’m not going to question him/. He tries to not look so out of control happy (like a puppy, he thinks) and points his thumb at the stairs. “I’m guessing you know the way.”

Stranger: Greg frowned at the other before nodding slightly and walking in. “Yeah. How’s Sherlock? I wasn’t sure if he was going to be out of the hospital yet or not, considering he was in bad shape the last time I saw him. I need his help, though, so I figured I might as well check,” he said, starting up the stairs before he glanced back down at him. “I should introduce myself, sorry. This case has me a bit scattered right now. Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade,” he said, holding his hand out to the other, curious as to how Sherlock had someone around all of a sudden after so long without accepting help, let alone getting close to anyone.

You: John shakes, and feels the muscles he’s come to tie with more active men than police officers. “John Watson.” He follows up the stairs, just a little behind Greg. “He’s surprisingly mobile, given what he just went through.” Really, really surprisingly mobile. John wonders why a police inspector would be coming to help from a drug addict, and decides that he doesn’t need to know. “Speaking of which, what was it that he ODed on? I wasn’t told.” He should have found out, would have guessed the cocaine given the tracks, but heroin could be just as responsible. Both? John wished he’d been told more about Sherlock and less about himself on the drive over.

Stranger: Greg laughed softly before shrugging and he continued up the stairs, waiting in the living room for Sherlock. “I don’t know. Sherlock wasn’t conscious when I found him, but knowing him it was probably a mix of both. I’m not sure. We keep trying to get him to quit, otherwise he’s going to destroy that mind of his that he rants on about, but he refuses to listen to reason,” he said before taking a deep breath, trying not to pace in the living room as he waited for the man. 
Sherlock walked back over a few minutes later, dressed in some nicer clothes now and his hair at least half-attempted to be brushed out, and he glanced at John, smiling faintly as he adjusted his scarf. “Where’s the crime scene? We’ll meet you there,” he said. Greg sighed softly before rambling off the address before walking off, and Sherlock hummed, thinking it over before he looked at John. “Ready?”

You: John gave a sympathetic smile to Greg, tapped his toe in impatience and waited. He folded his arms behind his back, unfolded them because he felt far too formal, and then linked them because it was comfortable and familiar. “Lead on.” He couldn’t stop the little laugh that escaped his mouth when Sherlock came out. And then added the scarf and it was too perfect to be real. He coughed, and covered his mouth, turning towards the stairs, half wanting to ask Sherlock if he dressed up like this for every police call. It did look like dressing up. Except for the hair. The hair wasn’t fancy at all. And made the picture even funnier because Sherlock was half ready for a wedding, half just rolled out of bed.

Stranger: Sherlock frowned as he looked at John before sighing and walking down the steps, wondering just what was amusing about this. So he wanted to look nice, especially when everyone just knew of him as the crack addict detective who was a psychopath. What was wrong with that? He quickly hailed a cab, getting in before waiting for John, and then he told the driver the address before he relaxed in the back. “Questions?” he asked, glancing over at him. “And…you should probably know that most everyone hates me. And what they say isn’t true. Alright?” he added, thinking it best to warn John about that while he could, and he looked over at him, slightly worried that the slight standing he had in John’s eye would be completely ruined because of what the others would say.

You: That’s enough to shove the smile off of John’s face. He likes Sherlock, but now is worried that he’s been feed a lie and the nice, if scatterbrained, man isn’t all that he seems to be. “I’m a werewolf.” John turns to face Sherlock, confidence growing as he speaks. “Who lied on his enlistment papers and became an army doctor. If they’re going to hate anyone, it’ll be me.” His smile is reassuring, though why he thinks that he can reassure Sherlock about the reaction of people he has never met is lost on him. “And yeah, I’ve defiantly got questions.” He’s got a list of them, piling up in his little small brain. “Why are the police going to a private detective for help?”

Stranger: Sherlock smiled hesitantly at him before he took a deep breath at the last question, almost smirking at that. “Not private, consulting. I consult for Scotland Yard when they’re out of their depth. Which is rather often, but they won’t let me consult if I’m high. So I tended to binge on drugs. It’s why I OD. After a few hits my calculations are a bit off. Should be better now,” he said before closing his eyes. “I didn’t know my brother was getting me a doctor before you walked in. And I didn’t realize he’d be able to track down an army doctor, either. So there’s that. I’m not an amateur, and I’m not private either. I’ll consult for anyone, assuming they’re interesting enough.”

You: ”How did you know I was an army doctor?” That was another question on John’s list, though his original plan had been to save it because he’d experienced one Holmes brother pulling him apart and wasn’t too keen on the second. Talking to Sherlock had, though not gotten rid of those fears, dulled them. He was interested, and when John got interested… He knew the curiosity killed the cat line by heart by the time he was ten. “I didn’t hear your brother mention anything about what I did. I figured he read my file, but he didn’t say anything about that to you.”

Stranger: Sherlock grinned faintly at him. “You held yourself remarkably like someone who was brought up that way, in the army. So either an army family or you were there in the army. However, you’ve got a pronounced tan, however it ends at your wrist, so you couldn’t have been suntanning somewhere, so you were in the army, and left rather recently. You were invalided, due to that limp you have, even though it’s psychosomatic, or at least partially. Probably also hurt it while you were struggling to get away from my brother’s men. The…other bit was because of the purpose my brother brought you. Most can’t be a slave, so that was the easy bit,” he said softly, shrugging before he waited for John to get offended or the like.

You: The three stages of shock, as experienced by John Watson as he stares at Sherlock Holmes, sitting in the back of a London taxi cab, on his way to God knows where. Confusion - because there’s no way that someone can get all of that from simply looking. Defense - no one should be able to pick up his secrets like that. Secrets were secrets for a goddamn reason and he didn’t want someone knowing all about his history. Thirdly, and lastly, amazement. He got all that- My God, he got all of that from looking at me. The first two feelings don’t last very long, and John remains in the last stage for quite some time. “Amazing. Absolutely amazing!”

Stranger has disconnected.

April 13, 2014

Anonymous asked: other than sherlockbbc-fic LJ; tumblers Johnwantsit, johnlockprompts, sherlockfanfictionchallenge, promptsherlock; and moonblossom. net/ prompter. what other places can one get a prompt? Is there a place where all the prompting sites collaborate? like a feed? where other fans can prompt too and it can be all categorized or organized like sherlockbbcficrecs tumblr or ao3?


I forgot this was in our drafts.  Sorry Nonny!

My first reaction was to run for a link to the kinkmeme but then I see that you mentioned it.  Um.

Letsdrawsherlock and ladiesofsherlock are art prompt blogs.  I can’t think of any giant collab of prompts with a comprehensive collection other than the AO3 Fic Auction collection.  

I think there was transficathon, but that hasn’t gotten off the ground yet.  People have asked if they can run Doctor Who and SPN specific versions of LWS, but I don’t know if those blogs are still active.  Someone’s started a (NSFW!  PORN!  NAKED PEOPLE!) bottomlock prompt blog.  

For other non-fandom specific prompts, off the top of my head… There’s Suddenlyprompts, imagineyourotp, and FYCD.  None of those prompt blogs have any sort of collection for the stories that result of those prompts, as far as I can recall.  Google will probably yield more prompt generators if you need them.  Sorry if this wasn’t helpful.

Followers, reblog with suggestions for the nonny!


There’s a bottomJohn blog with an ever growing prompt list and not enough writers.

April 13, 2014
Reblog if you want your followers to tell you who you’d be from one of your fandoms.








Wonderful idea.

I will be shocked if I get any tbh

Go for it

^^ agreeing with the comment two up

But pls send me asks

Let’s give this a go, yeah?

(Source: burniedottcom)

April 13, 2014
Almost Spoiler-free Summary of Cap 2
Steve: Let's be friends
Nat: No. *vaguely alludes to tragic backstory*
Steve: *jumps off stuff*
Steve: Let's be friends
Fury: Hell no. *vaguely alludes to tragic backstory*
Steve: *jumps off stuff*
Steve: We're friends
Bucky: *doesn't remember tragic backstory*
Steve: *jumps off stuff*
Steve: Let's be friends
Steve: *jumps off stuff with Sam*
April 11, 2014
Giveaway, signed script for BIRDLAND


So I’m thinking of doing a giveaway for Birdland, as my last two for Coriolanus and Mojo went quite well. My idea for this one was to get the script of Birdland signed by Andrew personalised to whoever wins (so he writes it to your name). Plus I can try and get the other…

April 11, 2014
"God wants us to be NICE to people!!"

— A cucumber wearing plungers on his head said this to an audience of small children and they got the message better than some fully-grown religious leaders.  (via h2ointowine)

(Source: howdoyoutakeoff, via caffeinatedqueer)

3:23pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Z2k8Os1CloP8o
Filed under: veggie tales 
April 11, 2014


"Tabula Rasa"
Because too many Bucky feels after the movie….
[please don’t repost or use without permission, thank you <3]




"Tabula Rasa"

Because too many Bucky feels after the movie….


[please don’t repost or use without permission, thank you <3]


(via assvengerbootyshorts)

April 10, 2014
World Of Nothing: How Long Will It Last?

Title: World Of Nothing: How Long Will It Last?

Author: Aliit Vodeson

Alternate Universe Type: Vampire!AU


It rolls off the man like waves hit the shore. Only it’s more than that. It fills the room, like too much perfume or several days without showering will fill your nostrils. And for him it’s so much worse because he catches all of it. Every drop of sweat, every heartbeat, every twitch of the tremor in his hand. Everything that makes him disgustingly human.
Every. Last. Bit.
He hates John Watson for it.

Rating: M

Pairing: Johniarty

Genre: Angsts

Length: 5173 words

Warnings: blood drinking, non explicit references to violence and death.

Links: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1445818

April 8, 2014


Sebastian is caught in a hit and Moriarty’s men don’t know how to tell the Boss the bad news. He puts his mind to work immediately, there’s no way in hell he’s going to leave his Tiger behind. He’ll burn London if it’s necessary.

(via consultingking-jim)

April 8, 2014


Kevin Tran + being 100 percent done

(via stormyhael)

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