Life is hot and I am short. I'm mainly here for the group therapy (Sherlock, Doctor Who, Harry Potter, Cabin Pressure, and the Hobbit). Proud supporter of TJLC since January 12th, 2014.Ask me anything
Remember when John called Sherlock mate (as in friend) and he had to stop for a second and frown because the words were so wrong
Remember when MindPalace!John called Sherlock ‘mate’ and didn’t frown because Sherlock thinks John thinks the words were so right.
it’s like he’s saying “if I don’t live long enough to make TJLC canon on Sherlock this is what I planned to do with it”
No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. I mean he’s leaving Doctor Who, in order to go work on Sherlock more, but before he leaves, he wants to put in as much blatant foreshadowing in DW as possible. TJLC is definitely real, and it is definitely happening. It’s just a matter of time
and getting Ben and Martin in the same country at the same time
-There is going to be a Sherlock Christmas Special in 2015, which would clash (work-wise, not scheduling-wise) with Doctor Who.
-There has been a 500% increase in ‘Sherlock’ references within Doctor Who: epic amounts of foreshadowing, callbacks, and even re-appropriated lines during every single episode of Series 8, suggesting he wants to get as many references crammed in before he has to leave
-Russel T. Davies was showrunner for four seasons, plus the Tennant Specials in 2009; Moffat will be showrunner for four series, plus several extra Christmas Specials and the 50th anniversary
-Seriously, the Johnlock Endgame isn’t due for another three years. Why the sudden increase in foreshadowing in DW (which started back in Series 6, fyi) if not due to the showrunner trying to get all his last clues in? (I’m picturing the Doctor and Clara stepping out of the TARDIS, having just visited Christmas 2017, smirking up a storm)
“Admit it,” Destiel sneers. “You’re just mad because I’m so popular. You were the big man on campus for four years, but now that there’s some competition you can’t handle the heat.”
“Competition?” Wincest laughs derisively. “Don’t flatter yourself, hotshot. Your entire ship is based on a handful of scenes and a couple catchphrases. The entire show is built on my ship, not to mention twenty-two years of pre-series canon.”
“They’re brothers, you sick fuck!” Destiel shouts. “Would you fuck your own brother?”
“I do fuck my own brother!” Wincest snaps, his anger flaring up dangerously.
They’re face to face, mere inches apart. Wincest doesn’t know when he pinned Destiel to the wall, but his hands are gripping the other’s wrists tightly. The bones feel surprisingly delicate in Wincest’s rough hands, and he feels the smaller ship’s pulse flutter against his fingertips.
“Let go of me,” Destiel hisses.
Wincest just pushes in closer, until their hips are pressed together. His lips curve in a predatory smile at the feel of Destiel’s arousal hardening against his thigh.
“You like this, kiddo?” Wincest demands. “Being held down by a sick fuck?”
“Get off me!” Destiel yells, struggling to loose Wincest’s hold. But he only succeeds in getting his knee between Wincest’s legs, his frantic movements causing their limbs to tangle together even further.
Wincest’s grin widens, and he rolls his hips deliberately. It draws an involuntary whimper out of Destiel, who flushes red and freezes at once.
“Yeah,” Wincest purrs. “You like this.”
“Don’t,” Destiel says feebly, but he’s tilting his face up unconsciously, inviting.
Wincest lets out a low growl and ducks down to nip at the curve of Destiel’s neck, scraping his teeth against the sensitive skin and marking him up. Destiel shivers beneath him, momentarily acquiescing.
“Why don’t I teach you a thing or two about profound bonds?” Wincest murmurs.
(…I DON’T EVEN KNOW YOU GUYS. BLAME THIS POST FOR PUTTING THE IDEA IN MY HEAD. LOLOL I’M GOING TO REGRET THIS IN THE MORNING.)
Remember that time someone wrote Wincest/Destiel and it was brilliant?
Three years later:
“My how the tables have turned,” Destiel murmured smugly as he walked around the bed, trailing a finger over Wincest’s trembling body.
Wincest was tied spread-eagled to the bed—open and vulnerable, just how he liked it.
“Looks like the upstart ship that could has dominated the polls, the headlines, and even has one of its actors on board with it—something you never got.”
“Oh please,” Wincest snarled, ignoring how his pulse quickened when Destiel sat beside him on the bed. The riding crop that had come out of nowhere made a sharp crack as Destiel slapped his palm with it, causing Wincest to jump. “My actors know that there is no other as important to each other as the members of my ship.”
“Speaking of members,” Destiel said with a repressed giggle and trailed the riding crop over the obvious bulge in Wincest’s panties.
“You are so immature,” Wincest sighed with a roll of his eyes.
“Like ‘em young though, don’t you, you old pervert? I mean come on—they’re practically parent/child.”
“You’re talking to me about age difference?” Wincest asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Touché,” Destiel smirked. He leaned close and grabbed Wincest’s lower lip with his teeth, pulling back and letting the plump lip slide slowly—and with just the right amount of pain—through his sharp incisors.
Wincest moaned softly, never one to give in without a fight.
“You’ve seen it,” Destiel whispered in his ear. “The longing gazes, the soft smiles—and it doesn’t take life or death situations for them to be nice to each other.”
Wincest pulled at his bonds. “And have you noticed how your ship doesn’t even film scenes together anymore?”
“Only because they know if they’re in the same room together—nothing will stop the gay—“ Destiel forcefully shoved a hand between Wincest’s legs, making him cry out and yank again at his bonds. “—from exploding all over the place.”
Wincest squirmed and tried not to thrust his hips up into that wonderful pressure. Destiel bit his lip as he watched Wincest rut against his hand. He really was beautiful—in his own way. Wincest scowled at Destiel’s smile.
“You’ll never be canon,” he hissed.
Destiel leaned down and gave Wincest a surprisingly sweet kiss on the lips. “Neither will you.”
NEVER CHANGE, SUPERNATURAL FANDOM. STAY TRUE.
Anonymous said: where did this thing with bowie come from?
fact 1: Mark Gatiss found out David Bowie is obsessed with the show. He thinks this is “pretty fucking cool”
fact 2: David Bowie does not wear heteronormative goggles
fact 3: David Bowie knows
I just got alarmingly worked up over two old retired detectives being too tired to have sex.
Aw. I like to think if you want to you can always have some kind of sex, it may just be different than it used to be.
Or maybe, just maybe…
I never thought it would be true in the trysts and conquests of youth. You could never have gotten me to believe. But after a lifetime of action and adventure, unfathomable, life-affirming carnal pleasures, I find myself purely content here. No dashing to and fro. Staid morning walks down to the grocer have replaced the rooftop chases.
But I can think of no languid contentment more sublime than this hammock, listening to the drone of bees in the lavender as my dearest husband nuzzles my neck. One never knows until they get to be our age, I suppose.
There have been thousands of nights (and mornings, and afternoons) watching Holmes stretch languidly in the aftermath of pleasure, finally content to rest, at least for a moment. Each time seemed a miracle. Like watching a hummingbird settle on a branch for a moment. But somehow, none compare to this moment in my arms.
It may be a simple life, but we’ve plenty to do. Holmes has his bees, who never fail to stave off boredom. Now and again we get called on a case. Most he can still solve from his overstuffed armchair, my genius.
I kiss his forehead, his eyelids, his lips and we lay beneath the oaks, watching the sky dim to shades of lilac and the first stars appear. It seems to me, life has never been more perfect.
A bristle of moustache- becoming much more salt than pepper in recent days- brushed across my forehead. Tickled over my eyes.
Woke me up.
I groaned and rolled, forgetting that we were in our hammock. We swayed from side to side beneath the creaking branches of the trees until I settled myself more comfortably over a broad chest.
"The wind is changing." I observed, smelling the brine of the sea coming up from the cliffs.
My Watson hummed and tightened his arms around me. “We could go inside.”
"Not for the world."
john grew up in the 80s and 90s when homophobia was rampant
he wanted to be a doctor and there were posters on every corner warning people about the “gay plague”
his sister is queer and an alcoholic and we know nothing about their relationship with their parents
but you’re right, a man his age has no reason to be closeted, right?