DOES ANYONE WANT TO PODFIC SOME MORE MYSTRADE FICS???? 😂
Seriously, goddamn, sometimes I think about podficcing more of everyone’s Mystrade fics myself but I don’t have that much time and I always want to write with what time I do have and argh, I don’t know
(also when I read my fics out loud to check for out of character sections my Greg voice is ludicrous, shoot me)
Okay listen though I kinda think about doing this too sometimes. I worry I make Mycroft sound like a cartoon cat but I think about it Quite Hard.
How much expensive recording equipment is needed for podficcing?
Because I’m feeling this.
I would love to record some fics (mine and other peoples) but I’m not sure if the world’s ready for Scottish Mystrade!
@wastingyourgum, I for one am 100% ready for Scottish Mystrade.
Clearly you’d be the best person to read Kilt!Greg, @wastingyourgum!
Moth will attest that I have quite a posh Mycrofty voice? But I don’t think Horribly Mangled Posh Greg would work…
Also, @lockedinjohnlock-podfics has that amazing deep voice (hnnngh) aaaand… I’m quite high-voiced 😂
I think the recording equipment really varies in price – people tend to start out with not so expensive stuff, then slowly get annoyed with the quality they can achieve, and start upgrading…
DOES ANYONE WANT TO PODFIC SOME MORE MYSTRADE FICS???? 😂
Seriously, goddamn, sometimes I think about podficcing more of everyone’s Mystrade fics myself but I don’t have that much time and I always want to write with what time I do have and argh, I don’t know
(also when I read my fics out loud to check for out of character sections my Greg voice is ludicrous, shoot me)
Beautiful cover art by @alexaprilgarden. This final chapter wouldn’t have happened without @mottlemoth being an amazing friend and cheerleader. I am so grateful to the Mystrade family for their thoughtful, encouraging, patient and wonderful comments and kudos 💕
The habit has endured for a lifetime. This evening is the closest Mycroft has ever come to breaking it, unsure if he would find the time. Usually the final hours of each day are spent in his own company, working until he’s at risk of committing errors then writing quietly in bed by the glow of his lamp – but today, for the first time in his life, these final hours haven’t been spent alone.
It’s now close to midnight. His company kisses his temple, brushes back his ruffled hair and gives him a reassuring smile, promising in a murmur to return in just a few minutes. “Don’t go anywhere,” he teases, and Mycroft’s heart squeezes in response. They share a soft kiss. “Won’t be long.”
Mycroft waits until the bathroom door has closed.
He then eases open the top drawer of his bedside table, slides the journal out with care, and uncaps the silver fountain pen he keeps with it.
Something about doing this naked in a stolen moment leaves him feeling deeply and desperately honest. His hair is a mess, his skin still covered in kisses. There is stubble burn on his inner thighs. His lover is only feet away through a wall, and the two of them are now spent, sated, settling down to sleep through the night in the same bed.
He writes quietly, his heartbeat quick and happy. The pen nib scuffs across the paper, curiously audible tonight. He’s never noticed it before.
With Gregory.
As gentle and patient as I’d hoped. Even more so.
Mycroft hesitates, gazing down at the thick cream paper. The memory of the closeness they just shared brings him courage. He smiles as he commits this happy truth to the record of his life, glad to his soul.
Unsure how I’ll bring myself to let him go in the morning.
Hearing water hiss gently through the pipes, he caps the pen and returns his journal to the drawer. Tomorrow, when Gregory has left him, he’ll finish the entry. It gives him the full night to decide which additional details to give – which specific aspects should be laid down for recollection in the future and which moments should stay purely private between two lovers.
As Mycroft settles down beneath his sheets, enjoying the feel of a smile upon his lips, he realises that by morning there might even be additional memories to discreetly leave out of his journal.
Last year, our lovely @green-violin-bow wrote the most beautiful Christmas story that made me sad every time I even thought of chocolate coins. This year…well…Greg took action. This is isn’t a sequel–there’s no way I could write as well as Greenie–but it’s an AU of her AU. And with that, I present to you…
The Chocolate Coins
Mycroft sensed it even before he was fully awake. The warmth, the certainty,
the absolute rightness of his
husband’s presence was absent. He slid a hand to Gregory’s side of the bed. Slightly
warm. He’d barely begun to calculate the length of his absence when he felt the
slightest of breezes from the bedroom door opening. Gregory slipped beneath the
covers.
Since a few of us have started up/resurrected Dreamwidth journals I noticed (along with @anglofile) that there was no specific Mystrade community there.
So there is now 🙂 – mystradefans
Feel free to join if you’re over there. I’ve made it an open community and I plan on being very hands off, I just thought there should be a Mystrade comm for folks to publicise fics etc.!
Anybody fancy co-modding?
Oh of course – this won’t show up in the tags because I am a Tumblr-eebil…
Taging a bunch of people instead (apologies for tagging/not tagging you depending on which you’re upset by!)
Presumably someone’s already written a MasterChef Professionals AU?
Mycroft Holmes, reclusive development chef with a reputation for harsh words to those who don’t carry out his instructions well enough to bring his culinary vision to life. He’s been out of normal service for a few years so it’ll be a challenge to cook in front of Marcus, Monica and the food critics; but the real danger is his perfectionism, the way he beats himself up when he can’t deliver. He’s very controlled, and likes the challenges where he can prepare and practice obsessively.
Greg Lestrade, who’s worked himself up within the industry from potwasher to sous chef of a five-star restaurant in Mayfair. His life outside cookery has fallen apart: his wife’s left him, sick of the hours and his obsession with the job. He’s easygoing, friendly, but a little experimental in his cooking – his favourite challenges are the invention tests, because he can just wing it…and to be fair, it usually pays off.
Mycroft and Greg get at cross purposes on the first day, when Greg tries to chat while they wait behind the scenes, and Mycroft frankly says he has no interest in talking. (Unbeknownst to Greg, Mycroft is feeling so sick with nerves he can hardly stay calm.)
Mycroft steps into the kitchen to refill his glass of wine, carrying Rosie’s beaker with him. The little girl is getting tired. They should do Sherlock’s birthday cake soon so that she can go to bed.
John and Lestrade are just opening another couple of beers.
“Well why not?” says John with quiet amusement. “It’s just like you’re on your own, really, isn’t it.”
“Um, not really,” snorts Lestrade. “That’s sort of the point. Ugh. Nope. Too creepy for me.”
Back turned, Mycroft pours the wine.
“Oh come on,” snorts John. “Aren’t you even a bit curious?”
This is one of my FAVOURITE all time stories, which I long ago left my ration of one (1) kudos on and probably never comment enough because it’s creepy when someone does that so often (right? That’s what my brain tells me, anyway). But it’s soft and lovely and the very last scene is just gorgeous and, like so much of Greenie’s work, settles my mind. ❤
Green Violin Bow 