vulgarweed: (tale_grew_by_nerwende)
Originally posted to AO3 6/28/2017

Title: When Wind is In the Deadly East
Fandoms: Lord of the Rings + Sherlock fusion
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Eurus Holmes, Mycroft Holmes. As giant eagles.
Rating: T for some violence and incestuous ideation
Word count: 6754
Tags: All-Eagle AU, Holmes Siblings in Middle-earth and they are all Giant Eagles, overtones of incest, Undertones of Incest, The Final Problem Except They're All Giant Eagles, Fandom Fusion, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Holmes Family

Summary: “Brother mine, the dark clouds gathering have long stalked you, from the days of our home eyrie, and at last I shall tell you the full tale of our lost sister.”

“It was news to me that we had one. It would have gone less ill for us had I learned of this sooner.”

“You remember nothing, then. I thought as much. I shall tell you the full tale of Eurys our sister, burned through and corrupted by the East Wind where long she soared in circles, with the flames of madness in her eyes and the soot of Mordor in her feathers. The lost nestmate long imprisoned since our first eyrie burned. You were barely more than hatchlings, you and she, when first she tried to slay you. ”

***

The third and final Eagle-centric Tolkien story for my Fandom Trumps Hate bidder lydiabennet (Teasel). I so enjoyed our email exchange with your ideas - you inspired me to write a story that never would have existed otherwise.

Massive thanks to my betas Tyellas and iwantthatcoat!

***

I am WAY behind on replying to comments on this one. Like, I haven't done it at all and it's been haunting me. I have to go back into the mindset of writing this weird thing, I think. It's had the fewest readers of anything I've written in years (for reasons I think are pretty obvious) but the people who read it REALLY loved it. I'm a little overwhelmed.
vulgarweed: (cock-by-magnavox-23)
Seventh and last fic rec for this month at 221b-recs: The Piecroft Chronicles by iwantthatcoat: http://221b-recs.dreamwidth.org/512340.html

Absolutely amazing time-travel self-cest tale, with angst and feels.

Now it's September and the torch passes to two different reccers. I had a blast.

I'm participating in the one-day Tumblr boycott, not because I think boycotts like that really achieve anything (or that playing Whack-a-Mole with Nazi blogs is ever going to be effective for Tumblr staff) but I might as well take a day off and do some housecleaning around here. I'm behind on fic links and I think later on I'll put up some DW/LJ exclusive WIP excerpts....
vulgarweed: (Default)
Fic Rec # 5 for 221b-recs: The Magnificent Division by gardnerhill: http://221b-recs.dreamwidth.org/511736.html


A thrilling rescue-mission caper starring a brilliant team of bad-ass women (and one literal queen bee), to bust out Mycroft Holmes from the bad guys who've got him. Mycroft's worried partner Lestrade tags along, and learns some important lessons while having a crowning moment of awesome of his own.
vulgarweed: (real-by-magnavox-23)
Fourth fic rec up at 221b-recs:

A Gift for Rosie, by redbuttonhole: http://221b-recs.dreamwidth.org/511466.html

Creepy, gothic family tale - mind the warnings!

(I was all WTF about Eurus Holmes on the show, but she's become one of my favorite characters in fic)
vulgarweed: (Default)
Curse of the Were-Tuna, by WhoGroovesOn: http://221b-recs.dreamwidth.org/


This is such a wet'n'wild ride. Check it out!
vulgarweed: (come_by_jackshoegazer)
Ejaculations of Wonder
Fandom: Sherlock + Oglaf fusion.
WIP. Currently up to Chapter 13
Word count: 3511
Rating: NC-17/E
Pairings: Sherlock/His Hand, Sherlock/Everybody
Warnings: Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings. Fantasy world dub-con.
AO3 tags:
Fusion, Cumsprites, Comeplay, Magical Surveillance, Sherlock Just Can't Help Himself, mistress irene, The Criminal Ambassador, Sherlock Before John, Sherlock Meets John, Sherlock has a Secret and it is Kind of Gross, Facials, Bukkake of a Sort
Summary: Sherlock Holmes, a young Consulting Apprentice Detective, has a weird libido, a busy hand, and a terrible problem. He has attracted the attention of Mistress Irene and the Criminal Ambassador - and Mistress Irene has ways of keeping tabs on her favorites.

Like many Oglaf fans, I don't understand why Cumsprite AUs aren't almost as ubiquitous as Daemon AUs. If you're not a fan of the very brilliant, very funny, and very filthy Oglaf webcomic, go click on that and come back here once you are.

Related Works: the magnificent [personal profile] okapi is remixing this story chapter-by-chapter as DIRTY LIMERICKS (surely the highest form of literature). I am honored beyond all reason. Tiny Spritely Spurts of Verse.
vulgarweed: (Default)
Signed up to be an August fic reccer at [community profile] 221b_recs. That should keep bringing me back here. So far so good. Got a good healthy list of stories I want to plug.

Here's my first one (The Reality of Waking by Chancy_Lurking): http://221b-recs.dreamwidth.org/510012.html
vulgarweed: (cockcoin)
originally posted to AO3 on 4/24/2017

Every Bad Boy Loves a Sailor

Word count: 10,614
Chapters:Fandom: Sherlock
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Additional Tags: Bedtime Stories, Dirty Talk, Past Sex Work, Promiscuity, Prostitution, Past Threeway, Anonymous Sex, Period-Typical Homophobic Language, Appalachia, New York City, Hustling, Cruising, 69 (Sex Position), Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Sex Instructor Sherlock, Lazy Mornings, mild jealousy, Rimming, Barebacking, Period-Typical Risky Sex, Riding, Historical - 1960s, Historical - 1970s
Series: Part 11 of The Bone Fiddle
Summary:

Bone Fiddle-verse, Appalachian AU. On a lazy, rainy Sunday morning, Sherlock tells John a smutty and (mostly) true story. John’s got some mixed feelings about Sherlock’s promiscuous past, but he can’t deny what hearing about it in lascivious detail does to him - especially now that he’s the only one safely naked in bed with him.

Written for Shabet in the 2017 Fandom Trumps Hate auction.
vulgarweed: (porn!)
Written for the flash fic challenge at the Writing Erotica panel at Sherlock Seattle/Watson Washington.

Prompts: Mary, Sherlock Holmes (as played by Jeremy Brett in the Granada series), Collaring, Rough Sex, Mycroft's Private Plane, "What a thing to say, and on my birthday besides!"

The Bluestocking in Black Trousers at AO3

Also includes mild gunplay (because that always seems to happen with Mary) and Mary/John/Sherlock triad implied, in two different timelines.
vulgarweed: (OK by london_fan)
Fandom: Sherlock
PairingThreesome: John/Mary/Sherlock
Rating: NC-17/E
Warnings/Content notes: Shaving, Waxing, Bondage, Sensory Deprivation, Established Poly Relationship, Temperature Play, Knifeplay, mild Objectification, PWP (Porn With Punchline)

Summary: Captain John Watson endures bondage and sensory deprivation, among other enhanced interrogation techniques. Worst of all: manscaping.

Consensual kink play, established John/Sherlock/Mary poly triad. Almost certainly a scene from Genetic Markers-verse, but just a few lines strongly suggest that.

Written for the "Sensory Deprivation" or "Shaving/Waxing" squares on my Season of Kink card.


Our Doctor, Clean-Shaven at AO3.


Not generally a kink of mine - or at least it wasn't when I started! :D
vulgarweed: (OK by london_fan)
Fandom: Sherlock
Rating: Explicit/NC-17
Pairing Threesome: Mrs. Hudson/Sherlock Holmes/Irene Adler
Content Tags: BDSM, Paddling, Anal Plug, Pegging, Femdom, Submission, Domestic Discipline, Naked Male Clothed Female, Sub Sherlock Holmes, Dom Irene Adler, Dom Mrs. Hudson, Mild Humiliation, Cunnilingus, foot worship, Roleplay, Threesome - F/F/M
Summary: The ageing housing stock of central London is picturesque but delicate, and often harbours destructive pests who wreak havoc on the fragile structures. If such damage is spotted, building owners and managers are advised to contact a skilled professional who is well-versed in the control of vandalous creatures.


Mrs. Hudson's Guide to Care and Control of Household Pests (When to Call a Professional) at AO3

For the Get Mrs Hudson Laid fest!

Inspired by one line at the end of The Passion That Slays and Recovers, when Irene says to Sherlock: "And besides, your landlady has threatened to hire me to make you apologise for damaging her walls.” I decided to go ahead and write that. (Though I don't know if this story takes place in the same 'verse as that one.)
vulgarweed: (rain_by_aurora_starwing)
This is one of the coolest fandom gifts I've ever received: Sunhawk loved that story so much she commissioned an artist, elfrightsactivist, to draw a scene from it, and the result is AMAZING!

Under the cut because it's big and spoilery (though, honestly, it's a Tolkien crossover fic, so I don't see how the possibility of [THING THAT HAPPENS] is really a surprise to anyone. It is fairly SFW (some strategically covered nudity), unlike the story itself (drawing the actual sex scene from this story would be . . . a specialized task I wouldn't want to impose on anyone. :D)

LOOK! )

Of course it works best as an illustration for the story, so I've added it here.

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!
vulgarweed: (rain_by_aurora_starwing)
Note this is a different one than the clip I posted to Tumblr earlier. My block on this just broke and I couldn't be happier.

Sérelókë and Iaun reach Menegroth at last - and have a surprisingly illustrious escort.

***

A great causeway of stone stretched out ahead of them, narrow and high-walled, at a dizzying span above the rushing river. Certhasath hesitated at first, until the Elven maid turned around and smiled at him, calling softly - between their thighs both Sérelókë and Iaun could feel the great horse relax at her urging and begin the crossing, trusting her utterly.

“Why does she allow us to pass so easily?” Iaun asked. “I expected a far greater trial.”

“There has been a trial already, Iaun,” Sérelókë said. “She looked within me and she saw my true form. Any attempt to deceive would have turned her against me, and I am not accustomed to be so clearly seen. Yet it could be no other way - Lúthien is very much her mother’s daughter, and her mother is well aware of our coming.”
vulgarweed: (rain_by_aurora_starwing)
I've been lax on posting the updates of this fic here - so sorry!

At AO3


Explicit
Archive Warning:
Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category:
M/M
Fandoms: Sherlock/The Silmarillion
Rating: NC-17/E
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Sherlock/Gothmog
Content notes/warnings/enticements:
Shapeshifting, Kinslaying, More Shapeshifting Elemental Whip Magic, BDSM, Rope Bondage, Dubious Consent, Even More Dubious Tolkienian Theology, Crack, crackfic, Dom Sherlock, Sub Everybody Else, Dark Fuck Prince Running Loose in Middle-earth, Bang a Balrog (Get It On), Interspecies, Crossover, Canon-Typical Violence, Sensation Play, Temperature Play, Violent Sex, Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Painplay, Elemental Magic, Rough Sex, Stone Bondage, Impact Play, Rimming, Dubious Tolkienian Linguistic Discipline, Mild Cock & Ball Torture, Body Worship

Summary: "It's a bonny thing," said he. "Just see how it glints and sparkles. Of course it is a nucleus and focus of crime. Every good stone is. They are the devil's pet baits. In the larger and older jewels every facet may stand for a bloody deed.” - Sherlock Holmes, The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle, Arthur Conan Doyle

Sequel to With Both Hands Thou Shalt Give It. After Melkor murdered Finwë and stole the Silmarils, fleeing to the lands across the sea, Fëanor, the Silmarils’ maker, led an army in hot pursuit to avenge his father and reclaim his treasure, swearing an oath that would doom them all. And the Fëanorians were followed by the eccentric, brilliant, and fearlessly kinky Maia detective called Sérelókë, who can always be trusted to stick his nose (and other parts) into the meat of any fascinating and dangerous crime. In Beleriand, he will find a rich playground for all his passions, and meet a companion who will change his life forever.

Chapter 1:Aftermath Prologue - The Tale of the Journey to the East

In a time and place of safety after the Battle Under the Stars (and the main events of this story) Sérelókë tells the tale of how he came to cross the sea to Beleriand. He will take his sweet time - he has a captive audience.

Chapter 2: Elen Sila Lumenn Omentielvo

A star shines on the hour of their meeting.

Chapter 3: I Am More Sweet Than Other Meat

There's only one way to deal with creatures like the residents of the Valley of Dreadful Death - insult them!

Chapter 4: The Battlefield Under the Stars

Iaun would not choose to be bystander to a great battle - but Fëanor's fall is terrifying. And Iaun's new friend Sérelókë is more terrifying still.

Chapter 5: Where There's a Whip, There's a Way

Sérelókë confronts Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs, before the very gates of Angband. And Iaun discovers something about his new companion - and something about himself as well. (Specifically, a raging voyeurism kink.)

Chapter 6: Study in Flesh and Spirit

Wary and slow to trust he may be, but Iaun finds himself quick and reckless in desire - which is not at all the same thing. (An Elf is not quite so dangerous to seduce as a Balrog, but there is patience and artistry required in doing it properly.)

Chapter 7: Come Through Woe to Bliss

Iaun likes a lot of woe with his bliss, and even Sérelókë finds him quite a handful. Handfuls, even.

(this is the chapter that's just 8100 words of Sérelókë/Iaun BDSM - as only they can do it. Or would want to.)
vulgarweed: (the game by isaac_of_nine)
Iaun stood still and silent, and gave but one terse nod. “Have you some power of sight?”

“Observation,” the stranger said. “You are Elven, but not Noldor, not Vanyar, and only tenuously Teleri. Clearly Moriquendi, you’ve never been to Valinor. Your green raiment marks you as one who has often dwelt in the forest, but you are not quite so . . . feral . . .as some, so I deduce that you are one of the people of Lenwë, who heeded the summons of Oromë at first but later turned aside down the Anduin. You adjust your body weight as one who has worn armor in the past but now does not, preferring stealth in what you see as your maimed and weakened condition. You have a steel sword, well-made if plain and simple, and it is not of Noldorin make - oh no, it definitely wouldn’t be - so clearly you have had contact with at least someone who has had at some time had contact with the Naugrim, most likely by way of Doriath. You know how to use it, but the callouses on your hands and the way you carry yourself tell me that you are more confident with your bow and arrows - or at least you were before you sustained a wound to your shoulder that did not heal as completely as it should. Therefore, you were wounded in battle with the cruelest of enemies, who prevented you from access to immediate healing, most likely by taking you prisoner for a time. Though you have your own skill in healing - I can tell that by the scent of the herbs in that pouch you keep close to your chest - you were not able to bring it to bear enough to repair the damage fully. It must have been the battle where Lenwë’s son Denethor fell, was it not? You were taken by surprise while trying to help a comrade. You have a strong moral principle, but you are wary and slow to trust. Oh, and you are small of stature among your people, and you hoped to compensate for that in deeds of renown. You are motivated to take risks, and you are drawn to dangerous situations.”


***

Once I get back into the groove of it, Sérelókë is every bit as fun to write as his London counterpart. Maybe even more so.
vulgarweed: (elen-sila_by_pegkerr)
Beleriand, before the rising of the Sun and Moon:

And in the forest, an uneasy place in the best of times, Iaun was brought up short by a sound. Creeping slowly as he had long known how to do - yet hindered by the sinews of shoulder and thigh that no longer flexed as seamlessly as they once had - Iaun crept forward beneath the cover of the great ferns, one hand on his walking stick and the other on the hilt of his sword. Hoping that his silence would hold, and he could keep the advantage of surprise should this person turn out to be hostile.

An Elf he seemed, like Iaun himself, and yet clearly of a different clan; he had the rich robes and dark hair and grey eyes of the Noldor, and a haughtiness in his bearing beyond even the greatest of them. Iaun was resolved then to slink away, and let this strange one never lay eyes upon him if it could be helped, for surely no good would come of it.

And it was to no avail, for Iaun stepped upon a branch that cracked beneath his feet as if Yavanna herself had betrayed him; and a star shone upon his location as if even Elbereth herself wished him seen. The gaze of the lank stranger landed upon him, and Iaun found himself beguiled by the gleam of the sea in his eyes. The Enemy could deceive with fairness for a time, and yet Iaun felt that he was not in danger, not presently - naked and exposed as he felt beneath that stare.

“You have been in Angband, I perceive,” the stranger said.
vulgarweed: (rain_by_aurora_starwing)
“Oh, my dear Iaun Hossion, it is dangerous,” Sérelókë said with delight to his Elven companion, and the green-grey gleam of his eyes was fey in the distant light of the flickering flames. “Very dangerous. Much I know of their kind that is not known in this land. There was a little problem I solved some time ago - two Teleri brothers found pierced to the heart in a foundered ship, with no sign that anyone else had been there at all.”

Iaun felt this was hardly the time to share reminiscence, as the drumbeat of the giant’s steps came closer. Yet Sérelókë also was a flame, and one that held the eye and stayed the hand.

“And it was?”

“A Second Kinslaying, not such a widely-told tale as the first,” Sérelókë said with a grim little smile. “Brother slew brother. They did for each other in an argument over whether Balrogs have wings at all.”

“And do they?”

“That is why it’s so very dangerous here,” Sérelókë said with glee. “They have them, yes - but only during their mating season.”


***

Oh yes, he's coming back!

(HUGE thanks once again to the Tolkien nonnies at f_fa for naming help, in Sindarin this time. "Sanctuary" + "son of the army.")

In keeping with the crack-fic genre where this series started, I feel I should warn that the working title of this file is "Bang a Balrog (Get It On)" (I always feel it should fit the tune of the T. Rex classic, although it doesn't really.)
vulgarweed: (handbyarwen_elvenfair)
It's official. That Bilbo/Thorin/Beorn thing I'm working on is now a 10,000-word PWP.

Your word for the day, should you choose to accept it, is baculum. (That word doesn't actually appear in the story. You can't just throw Latin around in Tolkien fic. The concept certainly does, er, come up.)

GOOD OMENS EXCHANGE 2015 IS OPEN FOR SIGNUPS!!!
I have co-modded this beast for 11 years now! Tendy-one! Which is much to short a time to spend among such excellent and admirable fans. I don't know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.

I can't isolate a good excerpt from "Honeypot," the Bilbo's Raging Bear Kink fic yet, since, like I said, 10k PWP.

So have an excerpt from "The Ginger Bush League," which is a Sherlock AU heist caper sex farce (with Sherlock/John as the brilliant detective and his bodyguard-cum-lover-cum-sidekick and Irene/Mary as the brilliant criminal and her own.)

***

“Wait a minute,” Mary said. She had thought the matter of Irene’s duplicity had already shown all its layers in this instance, and found herself exhausted, furious, and yet a little relieved at the revelation that there might be another revelation still. She rather peevishly found herself wishing that Irene might stop revealing things that didn’t involve taking off her clothes. It was getting on towards bedtime. “Our real object? Wasn’t that the--”

“Yes, and we’ve that well in hand, you can be sure. But I found that the hound on our trail was no ordinary mutt. You might have heard of that detective who’s gone all viral? A Mr. Sherlock Holmes?”

“The one with the hat?” Mary said dubiously.

“Rather more than meets the eye. Not that what meets the eye is objectionable,” Irene said, arching an eyebrow.

Well, Irene had never claimed to be a gold star lesbian. Tin star, perhaps. Possibly zinc, or a nickel-plate alloy.

“You think he was getting close?” Mary asked incredulously.

“Oh, I know for sure he was,” Irene said. “He got quite a bit too close. And he’s very close even now.” Irene took Mary’s arm, and led her down the hallway to her windowed playroom, and pointed through the glass. Mary gasped - there was a man in there, bound quite thoroughly to one of Irene’s deluxe leather chairs (for their was no reason for her very well-paying victims to ever be uncomfortable in ways they didn’t wish to be, not when Irene’s art depended so much on very specific discomforts). But this one? A client, or a prisoner? He was a thin but well-built man wearing nothing but pricey black pants, artfully - and effectively bound - black ropes, and a black hood over his head. He had pale skin and long limbs, and absolutely none of the tell-tale signs of the terrified.

“How much does he know?” Mary asked.

“Oh, I would imagine nearly everything at this point,” Irene said.

“So . . . then, shall I?” Mary asked with a little sigh as her muscle memory started to shape the gun that was not in her hand.

Irene huffed and rolled her eyes. “Oh heavens, Mary, sometimes it’s so tedious that you’re a former assassin. You keep turning into that hammer that thinks every problem it sees is a nail.”
vulgarweed: (handbyarwen_elvenfair)
Which is apparently the first day of every month now? Oh hell yes!

Long Hard Day

(Sherlock; Sherlock/Mary/John, rated M, 221B format)

John and Mary have apparently not mastered all the nuances of Sherlock's texting style.


Every Grain Has a Value

(Lord of the Rings; Frodo/Rosie/Sam, rated M, 200-word double drabble)

Frodo's scars find some healing.



Going to try to add something new to this every month.
vulgarweed: (tree_by_aurora_starwing)
(reblogging from Tumblr, because I tend to lose track of things there. I think this idea is gold and it's a keeper.)

Ever since writing The Passion That Slays and Recovers, I’m kind of infatuated with Irene/Mary as a pairing.

So now I want to write ridiculous heist-caper hijinks where Irene Adler and Mary Morstan are the international criminal masterminds that Sherlock and John are obsessed with catching (and always falling just a teeeeeny bit short).

It would be heavy on the sex (I/M and S/J, and who knows, maybe various other combinations of the four), the humor, and the wildly implausible casefic crack, and very light on the angst and serious violence (think of my AdMor as less like MorMor and more like a kinky lesbian Raffles & Bunny.)

I know this pairing is rare-to-nonexistent, but HEY. THAT CAN CHANGE.

Would there be interest in this out there?

(I got a pretty good response on Tumblr and in the Antidiogenes chat.)

Think of it. There might have been a moment when S & J could have caught them, but it was decided all around that they were still all having too much fun. There might also have been a moment when I & M could have got away with stopping S & J's efforts to catch them forever - but it was decided not to, by the same people, for the same reason.

There must have been a time when they secretly joined forces against someone who horrified all of them.

Irene ties people up a lot. Strangely, no one subjected to this treatment seems to mind as much as they should.

Both pairings are totally in love, married, and devoted in their respective fucked-up ways - but none of the four holds sexual exclusiveness as a high priority, so smut possibilities are nice and flexible. (They all rank exclusiveness below dish-washing, as chores go. None of them is very fond of dish-washing. John is the only one who does it regularly - and he's jealous of Mary, because her partner is rich enough thanks to the jewel heists and high-end BDSM services to pay someone else to keep dirty dishes out of her line of vision at all times. He wonders sometimes if Sherlock couldn't pocket the occasional diamond or cane the occasional minor-noble arse to help keep up, the lazy aesthete of pure reason that he is.)

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