prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Man... Fandoms come and go, and you get used to that. But the saddest part about a fandom's fall from its golden age is looking back and missing all those wild-eyed talents that made it so great.

I hope you guys are still out there, somewhere. Here's to you!
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Originally posted by me at [ profile] arbitrary_fic

Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, OCs
Rating: Mature/R
Tags & Warnings: Vampire John, Angel Sherlock, Religious Themes, Demons, Vampires, Angels, Fallen Angels, Unhappy Ending, Revenge, Hell, Spiritual Corruption, John's life being all terrible all the time
Notes: A prequel to Graceless by belladonna_q, with her kind permission.

Hell is not a place, but a state.

Once, John can almost remember, the cosmos had been filled with light. He had been filled with music, made of it, his spirit a ringing, chiming note in a great joyous chorus of being.

There is no light here, nor music either. Humans refer to dirt when they speak of ugliness, but they can’t feel the radiance of earth, the brimming life of a swamp or cavern. But the beauty of life is in its meaning, in the love poured into it. That was gouged out of John’s eyes in the long burning fall, torn dripping from his memory. His Creator left him with the memory of a memory of having ever been loved, just enough to know that once, he felt something other than this eternal silent cold.

John learns, with clawing, bloody slowness, how to fend for himself. He learns the capacity to love wasn’t taken from him, or the need for it. He learns what it is to starve. To need things that aren’t given to him.

The humans are here, and he learns to love them in ways he’s fairly sure are new to him. With them near, he isn’t all alone. The bare, small song of their voices is an infinity better than silence. He learns that they can feed him. They’re sacred cattle with a worth and purpose beyond anything his blinded eyes can still see, and he can take it from them, and be warmed for a few minutes by the fire of their souls.

He loves these beautiful brief creatures savagely, helplessly, with a frightened need.

Read More
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
I wish you could merge Livejournals, because I am over the days when I felt shy about writing genderswap tentacle-sex porn.

Also I think all my followers who would have been scandalized by this have stopped using LJ, soooooo.

Originally posted by [ profile] arbitrary_fic at BBC Sherlock fic: Six
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Rating: NC-17
Tags & Warnings: Omegaverse, tentacles, sexswap
Notes: Written for michi_thekiller. Betaed by the always delightful LapOtter!

Sherlock and Jonnie both gasped and jerked as another of Sherlock’s knots popped into her.
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Originally posted by [ profile] arbitrary_fic at BBC Sherlock fic: Cold
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Rating: R
Tags & Warnings: dubious consent, supernatural elements, monster Sherlock
Notes: Prompt from dirtycorzaharkness: "john/sherlock cthulhu or ballroom dancing au."

John opens his eyes when he feels the bed dip. Sherlock swings one immaculately naked ivory leg over his hips and stretches out luxuriously atop him, a heavy, living weight of muscle and bone.

He is cold as winter marble.

John can’t move, except to reach up and wrap his arms around Sherlock’s frigid shoulders. The chill soaks into him till he’s wracked with shivers, but Sherlock’s eyes are so warm when they meet John’s with a teasing smile, and his lips are the perfect soft kiss of the first winter snowfall as they brush at John’s with gentle desire. Even though John knows what comes next, he can’t bear to turn that affection away. He’s wanted too badly for too long, aches too deeply, and Sherlock knows it.

They kiss langorously, mouths moulding and tasting, in just the way John never believed he could have. And when John’s lips part under Sherlock’s coaxing tongue, Sherlock’s breath pours into him, a gelid tendril creeping down into his lungs. John can feel it there, the frost piercing the blood-air barrier of his lungs to invade his bloodstream, feasting on his heat to multiply in his veins and spread through his body.

He wakes up alone, chest aching with the cold. Every night, it seeps a little deeper. John doesn’t know whether to love or dread sleep.
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
I just rediscovered this half-completed fic I've had lying around in my WIPs folder for...*checks datestamp* two years.

Originally for a prompt on the BBC Sherlock kink meme:

Warnings for omegaverse, glory holes, and everything you can figure goes along with that.

Nothing gets Sherlock’s blood up—among other parts of him—like a nice, intense, freshly solved case.

It’s the hunt that does it. That intoxicating savour of a competitive victory…and occasionally the thrill of a close escape from death. The knowledge that yet again, he’s taken on all comers, some of them armed, and come out on top, shown the world that not only is he the best at what he does, but no one is even capable of doing what he does.

He knows this to be objectively true, as even the alphas of his acq1uaintance can’t help but admire his skills. Or display their jealousy of them. Same thing, really.

Unfortunately, the more clearly his superiority is displayed during a case, the more urgent his desire to…physically demonstrate it afterwards.

Read more )
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Remember that first paragraph or so of the next Odalisque chapter that I pulled apart and rewrote a couple of weeks back?

Here it is again:

"Or is it Watson-Moriarty, properly?”

John feels the smile twist on his face and lets it fall.  “Doctor Watson will do.”  So much for coincidence.

The threat clears his head, the way it always does.  His thoughts leap forward, quick and lucid. Fear’s still there on some level, but he lets the contempt push it out.  For having his time wasted, for yet another idiot lining up to get his head taken off.  “Whatever you’re after, you won’t find it here.”


And now, after redrafting this scene in Sherlock's POV, this is the first bit (still in sketch form, you can see I haven't finished incorporating all the threads of physical space/dialogue/headspace together yet):

Does he want me dead?  Is this his final move?  It can’t be.  There’s still something I’m supposed to do here, or something I'm supposed to trigger.  This isn’t climactic enough for Moriarty.  I interest him.  He’s played the game but this is only the beginning of the end.  That’s you, Watson, that’s what you’re meant to lead me to.

Sherlock watches the smile twist bitterly on Watson’s face as he understands the game is up.  “Doctor Watson will do.”

So many lies in this room.  Watson’s spine straightens.  Sherlock watches the timid little rabbit fall away, leaving a clear-eyed, grim-faced man standing across from him.  There’s still fear in his eyes, but it’s hardened, compacted down into a force Watson can use.  “Whatever you’re after, you won’t find it here.”

Maybe this fascinates me more than you guys, but it's just so interesting how switching the POV can reveal so much that was hidden and hide so much that was seen.
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Have finished the first scene of the next Odalisque chapter from Sherlock's POV, and as sloppy and 'just splat it down' as it is, when I hit the end of the scene, I thought, "Damn, I think this is supposed to be from his POV."

Which actually could solve a huge problem I thought we had.  If the last scene of the chapter is supposed to be from Sherlock's POV (and I have a suspicion that maybe it is, because when we first conceived of it, we were thinking of it from Sherlock's POV and maybe we should have admitted to ourselves that that meant something), then it'd be weird as hell if things just suddenly switched over to it.

But if an earlier scene starts from his POV, well.  Then suddenly we've got a rhythm going.

And then suddenly I may have a lot more ideas of what the second scene should be doing as well...
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
You know, I keep writing these little ficlet things I don't finish, and then I sit on them because they're not finished, and that's just stupid. What else is the internet for?

Sometimes Sherlock steps back into the shadows and vanishes, and then John can feel him everywhere.

On those nights, he likes to go walking through the darkest parts of London. It’s not that Sherlock will keep him safe, necessarily. London is hard, and cruel, and has one hell of a sense of humour sometimes. And he knows, of course, that John is in it for the danger. So John can’t trust that London won’t cough up some skinhead gang member, or a mugger running hot on crack, or even something more dangerous--the kind of criminal that Sherlock and John walk wary around, the ones Sherlock will go to the wall to put away.

John’s not quite clear on the relationship between Sherlock and London. He’d say they’re one and the same...except that they’re not. Maybe Sherlock is too small to hold it all. Maybe he’s just one more path to tread through the ancient city.

Even so, when he walks through the alley ways and Underground stations and back rooms, the shadows flutter over him like long pale fingertips. The air with its myriad textures rolls and bumps and scrapes, enfolds and crushes. London wraps around him, cold and hot, soothing and smothering, alternately making love to him and forcing its way inside.
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
A few people seemed interested, so I thought I would share the versions the first paragraph of this chapter has gone through today and give you a look at my revision process.

This is where it started in the draft:

John’s smile bleeds away, along with his last flicker of hope for a coincidence. He ought to know better by now. “Doctor Watson will do,” he replies, the words low and level as his gut starts its old peptic churn of dread. “What do you want?”

And then as I started putting Sherlock's POV together, I realized the pacing was off. )
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
I’ve been stymied recently on a pivotal scene that happens in this upcoming chapter.

It’s absolutely critical to the whole story. In fact, we maybe hung too much on this scene, which makes it trickier, but nonetheless we thought it through and figured it should be doable.

Only, now that it comes down to writing it, it hasn’t been working. Everything I’ve tried, I couldn’t get it to go forward without the action feeling random or the characters coming off OOC.

Finally figured out: it’s Sherlock. Because the story is from John’s POV, getting into that big brain and making the case for why Sherlock is doing what he does gets difficult sometimes. But if you don’t understand the line of reasoning going through Sherlock’s head here, everything that happens just seems crazypants.

I think we sort of saw this coming. When we were outlining this scene way back when, we noticed at one point that we were consistently approaching this scene more from Sherlock’s POV than from John’s, and I think we even have a note lying around somewhere to the effect of “This might screw with us.” But somehow, when it was still living in our heads, it just didn’t seem as urgent or potentially problematic.

This, guys and dolls, is why you outline. (A skill, incidentally, which I am only beginning to really learn as [ profile] bobrossanon and I progress through this story.)

I’m not entirely sure how to fix it. I’m trying to tackle it by scripting the scene from Sherlock’s POV, and then once I have the thought process and dialogue down, maybe that’ll make it easier for me to convert it over. Hopefully. Or you might get treated to sudden random POV switch in the next chapter.

Guess we’ll see!


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October 2015

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