violsva: Sidney Paget illustration of Holmes and Watson, seated, with the caption "Cut out the poetry, Watson" (Holmes)
Prompt #1: Bearing Up

Prompt #2: Gone From the City

Prompt #3: A Name in a Crowd

Prompt #4: One or the Other

Prompt #5: Point

Prompt #7: Alarum: Late

The above are one series, Spiderweb, connected to Go On Take Everything

Prompt #6: Amuse: Late

Prompt #9: Motley

Prompt #10: Agreement

Prompt #11: Three Hundred Years Earlier: Warning: period-typical spelling

Prompt #12: A Moment's Meeting

Prompt #14: Territories

Prompt #15: Unwelcome Social Summons

Prompt #16: Side Saddles for Ladies

Prompt #17: Logical Conclusion

[pause as I moved into a new apartment]

Prompt #24: If You Could Read Them All

Prompt #25: Traced Home: Xu-lai and Jane

Prompt #27: Inspire

Prompt #29: And In Short, chapter 1

Prompt #30: And In Short, chapter 2

Prompt #31: Transverse
violsva: Sidney Paget illustration of Watson reading, with the caption "Winner, JWP 2016" (watson's woes)
I have been doing pretty well this year.

Prompt #1: Water Cure

Prompt #2: Take Hold of Me: Very Cavafian

Prompt #3: Rest and a Bit of Peace: Great Mouse Detective

Prompt #4: Blood and Bile: Good Omens crossover

Prompt #5: Amicitiae Nomine Tectus

Prompt #6: Energy and Nerve Force

Prompt #7: Petitions

Prompt #8: Vroom!

Prompt #9: Experiments: Xu-lai and Jane; warning: Furbies

Prompt #10: First of May (late): BBC Sherlock

Prompt #11: Désir Bruyant: Smut, pegging

Prompt #12: Pash: Based on this picture, hello.

Prompt #13: Of their dead selves to higher things: Slightly gross

Prompt #14: Return

Prompt #15: Bleeding Hearts Around: Based on "Love Armed" by Aphra Behn

Prompt #16: Unexpected Sources (late): Agatha Christie crossover

Prompt #17: Commission

Prompt #18: The Widows: The Landlady 'verse

Prompt #19: Duties to a Client

Prompt #20: Our Cause Is Ripe: Sequel to Bleeding Hearts Around (#15 above)

Prompt #21: Bitter

Prompt #22: Hopeful: Lord Peter Wimsey crossover

Prompt #23: A Dying Fall: Warning: puns

Prompt #24: Summoning: Literary Agent Hypothesis

Prompt #25: Something in the Air: Warning: crack, sex pollen, bodyswap, tentacles, crack

Prompt #26: Earthly (late)

Prompt #27: Texting a Landline

Prompt #28: It Raineth Every Day

Prompt #29: Caught: Great Mouse Detective

Prompt #30: Woken Up

August Amnesty:

Prompt #1: Bark at a Crow

Prompt #2: Art Appreciation

Prompt #3: Respectable: Warning: classism, nastiness

Prompt #5: Reconsolidation: In the same Little Mermaid fusion as Metatarsalgia
violsva: Geoffrey Tennant, offering a skull (have a skull)
I feel like this should have all the warnings, but nothing graphic actually happens. I just went there mentally, a lot.

Blood and Bile )
violsva: Sidney Paget illustration of Holmes and Watson, seated, with the caption "Cut out the poetry, Watson" (Holmes)
It is July, and therefore it is time for ficlets of misery. I'll put up a masterpost in a bit; other than that I'm not sure I'll blog all of them individually.

Title: Water Cure
Author: Violsva
Rating: G
Universe: ACD
Character(s): John Watson, Sherlock Holmes
Relationships: Watson/Mary
Summary: Mary Watson encourages her husband to join Holmes in Europe. There's nothing he can do in England, at the moment.
Content Warnings: Angst
Word Count: 490
A.N.: For Watson's Woes July Writing Prompt #1: 'Tis But a Scratch

On AO3
violsva: Sidney Paget illustration of Holmes and Watson, seated, with the caption "Cut out the poetry, Watson" (Holmes)
missdaviswrites:
If he laid on his left side, the damaged muscles in his shoulder protested at the weight. The obvious solution seemed to be to sleep on his right, but when he did he invariably woke up with a cramp in his leg—he’d limped on that side for too long for it ever to be fully pain-free again. If he was twenty years younger he would’ve slept on his stomach, but he wasn’t, so he slept on his back. Which would’ve been fine, if it weren’t for the dreams. Therapists, fellow doctors, friends: everyone told him that bad dreams weren’t dependent on the position in which he slept, but they were wrong. All of his nightmares ended with him flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

He never told Mary, not in so many words, because what was the point? She couldn’t solve any of his problems, physical or otherwise. But after a few months of sleeping together he realized that she knew. He still had the bad dreams, but now, whenever he woke from them, she was there, a hand on his arm, skin touching skin, comforting and calming him enough that he could finally sleep in peace.

(i would write the part with room for sherlock but basically that’s already half of my posted works on AO3)

Me:
She’d trained herself to wake up as soon as the nightmares started. She didn’t always know where she’d be sleeping, or with whom, and wakefulness was better than having to explain screaming at night. Even in her new civilian life, she didn’t want to have that conversation with casual boyfriends. Easier to avoid any mention of it, any memories from it.

So when her dream-self saw lightning, or dark empty hallways, or felt the solid comfort of a gun in her hand, she woke up at once. Every time.

John didn’t. John, she knew without asking, lived through all of his awful memories again some nights, unable to stop them. Usually it was Afghanistan, now. So she tried to fall asleep facing him, touching him, so when he woke up he knew she was there.

And when she woke up she was looking right at him, every time, and knew where she was, and who she was, and why she was here.

missdaviswrites:
Sherlock never slept in John and Mary’s bed. The activities in which the three of them engaged after the baby went to bed always energized him rather than tiring him out, so he didn’t need to sleep in the space they left for him, though sometimes he liked to stay and watch them breathe. John twitched when he had nightmares; Mary’s body grew rigid and tried to draw in on itself, as if she could make herself small enough to escape from whatever pursued her. Early on he tried drugging them both into a more restful slumber, but his efforts had not been well-received, so he learned other ways to soothe: deep, soft whispers, a gentle nudge, the sound of his violin playing from the next room. When it seemed they both had a particularly unsettled night, he would take care of the baby’s breakfast and morning routine for them, letting them sleep as long as possible after the sun rose, when they transitioned into better dreams. No one ever mentioned any of this, but they all knew they had found the best arrangement possible for three people who’d once been so thoroughly alone.

(Miss Davis, if you see this and want it down/elsewhere just tell me <3)
violsva: A graffiti white maple leaf surrounding the words Toronto Maple Waffles (toronto maple waffles)
Ransom checked under Holster’s bed. Then under his blanket, although if it had been there they might have had to have a really awkward Talk. Then under the dresser. Then in the closet. Again.

Then in his hockey bag to make sure he hadn’t just left it there from last practice.

“The fuck,” he muttered, looking helplessly at his desk where his textbooks were piled up. He did not have time to lose things. He considered just going to study and looking for it in the morning, but Jack would kill him if he was late for the game and also if he showed up without his jockstrap, and where the hell was it, he knew exactly where he had left it…

I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You started playing quietly in the back of his head.

“That is ENOUGH!” Ransom shouted, angry enough that he suddenly didn’t care that the whole fucking thing was ridiculous. “I have four exams coming up, an entire fucking essay to write for my fucking required history credit, we just got into the playoffs, Jack wants two more practices a week, and I do NOT need fucking imaginary ghosts stealing my fucking jock on top of everything else!”

Ransom stopped, gasping for breath, and there was silence.

Absolute silence. Really, really weird silence. Before he started yelling Ransom had been vaguely aware of the distant sounds of Bitty singing along to Bey in the kitchen, typing and occasional swearing from Shitty’s room, traffic and conversations and even some birdsong outside. Now there was none of that. He couldn’t even hear his laptop humming. He looked around frantically.

His jockstrap fell off a rafter and landed directly in front of him.

He froze, and waited, but nothing else happened. Slowly, sound began to filter back into the room.

“Huh,” said Ransom. He picked up the jockstrap. “Uh. Thanks.”
violsva: Sidney Paget illustration of Holmes and Watson, seated, with the caption "Cut out the poetry, Watson" (Holmes)
okay, new theory (well, probably not new, but i haven’t seen it before):

Sherlock Holmes is stolen by fairies at Reichenbach

Luckily he had wide-ranging literary tastes as a child and it turns out his forgetting mechanisms are faulty, so he remembers not to eat anything and fights his way out three days later.

Except, you know, not three earth days later, whoops.

#doesn't really have a plot #so #meta #sherlock holmes #fairies #reichenbach #crack meta i suppose #there would be more plot if watson was fighting him out #hmm #i have seen the dr who version #multiple times
violsva: Team Rocket cheering (yay)
I got three lovely Yuletide gifts, and yes I am ridiculously lucky.

whistling through these driftwood bones by lady_peony, which is about Miranda (from The Tempest) and is magical and poetic and brilliant.

A Girl Worth Fighting For by prettysophist, which has Mulan! Managing to be perfect and realizing she doesn't have to be and cross-dressing and in love.

Thorns by wolfraven80, which has Morwen and Telemain being decidedly Morwen and Telemain -ish. It's so very much of the Enchanted Forest.

And I wrote one fic, and four drabbles.

My Assignment: Resources and Rescues for coyotegestalt - Cimorene and Morwen talk and run into someone. This was lots of fun.

Drabbles: 12 Dancing Princesses (angsty)
The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015) (porn)
Howl's Moving Castle (parenting)
Scott Pilgrim (female friendship)

And they all seem to have been pretty well-received.

And I also wrote Mine Is Forever, a short sequel to Just How This Would End, for Consulting Piskies for Christmas. Because I have a girlfriend, you guys. <3_<3

And I have two BBC Sherlock ficlets hanging around that I think I haven't mentioned here. (I am writing this while pretending that half of my tumblr dash isn't off watching the special. I find the contrast between the Victorian trappings and the BBC actors and characterization to be really upsetting somehow.) Anyway. All Was Absolute Silence Behind Us is a missing scene for Faerymorstan's fix-it Johnlockary Biscuitverse, and Utility is basically a meta theory in drabble form.
violsva: full bookshelf with ladder (Default)
 From this post. @sherlollymouse, your fault (also, hi! I’m Vi.)

Irene would do sex ed and advocate keeping sex work safe as well as legalizing it 

“So.” Irene slaps her palm with a riding crop. “We normally don’t talk about politics on these shows. At least, most of us don’t.”

Cut to Mycroft rolling his eyes. Mycroft may be tied to a bed at the time. Cut back.

“But there’s a very important issue I need to bring to your attention. Many of you may believe certain stereotypes about sex workers.

I am lucky. I have stability. An established position. Bargaining power. Most sex workers don’t.

“But all of us deserve safe working conditions. No matter who we are, where we’re from, or what we do.”

violsva: full bookshelf with ladder (Default)
Based on this edit

She found the body herself. She’d hoped he wouldn’t have -

What a disgusting thought. She called the appropriate people, and the undertakers, and the funeral directors. She attended the appropriate events. She didn’t cry publicly, but no amount of makeup would prevent her from looking strained.

She took two days off. Then she returned to work, and set to it.

It had been a mistake on Magnussen’s part, she told herself. He didn’t have any hold over her now. There was no reason for her to cater to him. And she had nothing else to focus on, except her work.
violsva: Sidney Paget illustration of Holmes and Watson, seated, with the caption "Cut out the poetry, Watson" (Holmes)
Prompt #1: Alternate Workspace

Prompt #2: Yellow Roses

Prompt #3: O Fearful Meditation

Prompt #4: Complaint

Prompt #5: Scribblings

Prompt #6: Straining Upon the Start (Great Mouse Detective)

Prompt #7: Appreciation

Prompt #8: Light

Prompt #12: Broadcast

Prompt #15: Chase (Late)

Prompt #19: Somnus

Prompt #20: The Lady the Epilogue

Prompt #21: Western Disturbance

Prompt #22: Fair Warning

Prompt #23: Short Rows (BBC Sherlock)

Prompt #24: Tea at Least (Late)

Prompt #25: Continuation (Late)

Prompt #27: Object Ball

Prompt #29: Lupus Capitolinus

Prompt #31: Prestidigitation

August Amnesty fics:

Prompt #1: Gasthof

Prompt #2: Sit Down
violsva: full bookshelf with ladder (Default)
Sherlock is sitting in the back of an ambulance, being questioned. “History of military service,” he says. “Nerves of steel…”

And he sees the blonde figure casually standing behind the police cars.

It makes no sense.

But he says, “Actually, you know what, ignore me,” and jumps down.

He strides past the police.

Mary smiles at him. “Are you all right? Sergeant Donovan’s just been explaining things to me…”

“Good shot,” says Sherlock, looking down at her hands. Gloved. Of course.

“Yes, must have been, through that window.”

“Well, you’d know,” says Sherlock, and Mary blinks up at him innocently.

#they have adventures #then sherlock jumps off a building like an idiot #then mary meets this nice ex-army doctor while he's gone #then sherlock comes back #realizes mary hasn't told john anything about her past #drama results

Expecting

Mar. 20th, 2015 03:14 pm
violsva: Sidney Paget illustration of Holmes and Watson, seated, with the caption "Cut out the poetry, Watson" (Holmes)
You with calm and rage and tea,
Her with smiles, sly words, hidden depths,
Me, my violin, my skull, Mrs. Hudson,
And another, unknown, unseen except in effects.
We wait. You and I waited twice
Without knowing it - first for each other,
Then to know Mary; now knowing, hoping.
violsva: Sidney Paget illustration of Holmes and Watson, seated, with the caption "Cut out the poetry, Watson" (Holmes)
 …in the stables. If it was someone familiar then the horse…

“Is he sleeping?”

“I think so. He said he had to think over a case, but he hasn’t moved for two hours.”

“Did he sleep last night?”

“No.”

…must be nearby, or running loose. Where is it - surely any horse of sense would have returned to its home by now…

“I know, my dear, but there’s no stopping him. I could tie him to the bed and he wouldn’t sleep.”

“Could you? Oh don’t blush like that! Could I?”

…would have returned…

“Would you like to?”

“Mmm.”

…have returned to…

“I’m not what you expected, am I?”

“Expected? No, not at all. No man expects to be this lucky.”

..returned. And it hasn’t returned home…

“If I did, John, do you want to watch?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, that was quick. He watches us all the time, but you’d like it too, wouldn’t you?”

“Both of you are far too lovely for me not to.”

…It hasn’t returned home so…

“Mmhmm? I think I’d like to have you watch me on top of him. His hands - well, you know about his hands - but I think I’d want to see what he could do with just his mouth.”

…it hasn’t … hasn’t…

“Darling?”

“Yes?”

“I think he’s woken up.”

“You two are distracting beyond belief.”

violsva: Sidney Paget illustration of Holmes and Watson, seated, with the caption "Cut out the poetry, Watson" (Holmes)
 verymorstan replied to your post:writing meme
let me”, if it was watson who couldn’t sleep? <3
Well, first of all it is actually my headcanon that when Watson had nightmares, after Afghanistan and later on after the hiatus, and Holmes was awake to notice, Holmes started playing the violin at night to send him back to sleep. So Holmes has an extra weapon there, and would usually be able to stop things before they got that far.

But if Watson got into the straightforward cannot fucking sleep mode Holmes is in at the beginning of that fic the violin would probably just make it worse. So much for that.

So Holmes would show up in the sitting room going Watson is crying why what can I do oh no with an added dash of ‘this is all my fault’ because it’s not actually that long after Reichenbach, and settle for putting a hand on his shoulder, and when Watson tells him to go away he’d probably try light humour before realizing oh shit he's really crying oh shit um

because Holmes does do touch as a sign of friendship, especially with Watson, but very little more, so he wouldn’t start cuddling him right away even if he really really wanted to

and Watson is less stubborn than Holmes so I think he’d manage to get Watson into bed

at which point I think it would be Watson who said “Stay,” and Holmes sitting on a chair next to the bed thinking that if this meant he could have got away with the cuddles earlier he should have tried that. And stroking Watson’s hair.

And then he wakes up the next morning with a hell of a crick in his neck and Watson is like thanks but I won’t need that again so Holmes decides to make sure he notices when Watson does. He’s not a doctor, so he’s not going to be trying everything to Fix It the way Watson does, but he wants Watson to be happy.

And if he ended up actually sleeping next to Watson the next time … then we have Holmes consciously aroused by the situation and NOT going to show any physical signs goddammit and Watson half-asleep and unconsciously aroused by the situation …

and I think they’d probably end up platonically [wth spell check that’s a word] sleeping together for months and dreaming about each other and trying to hide their arousal, until the tenth or so time they wake up in each other’s arms, which is when one of them goes 'holy shit this is mutual’. And then they make out and figure out the romance part a lot quicker than they did in Let Me.

Yuletidings

Jan. 1st, 2015 05:23 pm
violsva: full bookshelf with ladder (Default)
Okay, so my Yuletide presents were The Adventure of the Great Heart by donutsweeper and The Red-Furred League by Rosencrantz (Great Mouse Detective) and The First Goblin Market by Neshnyt_Jackalsson and Hellspawn by sweetcarolanne and Tantalus by El Staplador (Goblin Market) and yes, I got five gifts and they are all wonderful and I am ridiculously lucky.

And I wrote:

Title: From the Presence of the Sun for kitsunealyc
Author: Violsva
Fandom: Midsummer Night's Dream, Greek Mythology
Rating: M
Warnings/Enticements: Infidelity, Fairies
Word Count: 1827
Summary: They ring the world, and decide their politics and goals behind the lesser shorter lives of men, and interfere when it suits them, and laugh at rules, and make their own; and every act of theirs is known by its reflection in the lives of those they scorn and taunt and swive.

And

Title: Come Through Stone Walls for breathedout
Author: Violsva
Fandom: Carmilla (the book)
Rating: E
Warnings/Enticements: This is actually just 1800 words of slightly creepy lesbian porn
Word Count: 1806
Summary: I saw, or fancied I saw, the room and its furniture just as I had seen it last, except that it was very dark, and I saw something moving round the foot of the bed, which at first I could not accurately distinguish.

And drabbles in The Circle of Magic, Goblin Market, Pride (Steph + Joe), Othello, Pride again (Cliff), and Carmilla (the show).

And also I've been writing drabbles all month - Carmilla (Laura and LaFontaine), Carmilla (The Dean), and BBC Sherlock, but specifically verymorstan's threesome semi-AU.

Wow, that was a lot of links.
violsva: full bookshelf with ladder (Default)
In my head, somewhere, there’s this muggleborn Ravenclaw at Hogwarts, who loves history. And she’s so excited about History of Magic, she reads all the books she can find, she looks for how it fits in with muggle history…

And then she gets to Hogwarts and realizes that wizards don’t care about history. At all. Class is taught by a ghost who doesn’t care about anything modern and seems surprised when he realizes students actually exist, no one cares if they fall asleep in class, everyone has been assigned the same essay topics every year for the last five hundred years. It’s all about rebellions and wars and treaties, and there’s no social history at all.

And her first couple years she just deals with it, because, hey, new fascinating world she’s learning all about, she can deal with one poorly taught class.

But what made me think about this was the title of Harry’s essay in third year. “Witch-Burning in the Fourteenth Century Was Completely Pointless - discuss.” Because look at that from the point of view of someone who knows something about the motives behind witch-hunts.

So that’s when she loses it and spends the whole summer researching and writing an essay on the historical effects of magical existence on muggles. How wizards let people scapegoat other muggles and especially women for things muggles wouldn’t believe in if there weren’t real wizards everywhere. How pureblood wizards were happy to screw up the lives of the muggles living near them and then avoided all consequences because hey, they had Flame-Freezing Charms if the worst happened, what did they care if someone else was caught and died horribly instead of them. How even today muggles were falsely diagnosed with mental illnesses because wizards weren’t careful enough with their Disillusionment Charms, or because wizards thought Memory Charms were the solution to everything no matter how they affected the victim.

And she hands it in at the start of the year and a week later she gets summoned to the Headmistress’s office.

And Professor McGonagall smiles at her and says “This is a bit unusual, but would you be interested in a TA position?”
violsva: Sidney Paget illustration of Holmes and Watson, seated, with the caption "Cut out the poetry, Watson" (Holmes)
This isn’t something I’m working on; it’s a bit of Holmes’ POV somewhere in the middle of Let Me.

I did everything I could think of to stop needing him. I clutched a pillow, leaned against it, warmed it with my own body heat. I stroked my own hair, caressed my own face and shoulders. I tried, with all the force of my considerable imagination, to conjure up his presence, his warmth, his scent, the sound of his voice or simply his quiet breathing.

When I could, when my mind was not tearing itself apart and I could focus on baser desires, I pretended that my own rough fingers were shorter and thicker as they stroked my prick, and that my quick breathing was echoed by his. Even this did not work, and too often left me cursing, half frustrated and half bored with all physical concerns. It was not mere orgasm he gave me, much as we both pretended otherwise.

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