waid: (violin land)
Waid's Fanfiction.


"What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. "What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear?"

(Drama, angst, hurt/comfort and tragedy)

Text Omitted. 2000 words. Watson learns something disconcerting about Holmes' past. ' Holmes’ tone is light, but something in it, and the thought that if it is easy to imagine Holmes harming himself it is very hard to imagine him letting anyone get close enough to burn him, makes Watson raise himself onto his elbow and look down anxiously. “When did this happen?” '
Warnings - reference to child abuse (physical, not sexual).

The Old Campaigner. 3000 words. AU Reichenbach. Watson races back to the falls to discover that Sebastian Moran, old shikari and best shot in India, did not go there unarmed. "Holmes was stretched on his back, his limbs flung askew, and I could see at a glance that one leg was badly broken. His clothes were sodden with the spray."

Infallibly Deadly
441 words. AU Dying Detective. Watson opened the poisoned box.
Warnings: Imminent and inevitable death; utter, irreparable emotional carnage for everyone; it's evil and horrible and you don't want to read it.

Winter in London Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII Part VIII , Part IXPart X, Part XI, Part XII Part XIII, Part XIV, Part XV, Part XVIPart XVIIPart XVIIIPart XIX
(W.I.P) Watson tries to live with the memory of a terrible bargain in secrecy.  "The strange detached attention in that slack face was on me again. He asked, “What would you do to stop me?”
Warnings - rape, reference to child prostitution, violence.


"Life is full of whimsical happenings, Watson."

(Comedy, romance, crack and fluff)

Like a Dream 700 words. Inexplicably, Holmes and Watson time-travel to 1989. “But everyone’s hair, Holmes!”

Floriography Lessons. 1000 words. Now that they are in a "romantic relationship", Watson subjects Holmes to the intricacies of Victorian courtship. Holmes learns about the Language of Flowers, among other things. 

The Adventure of the Blue Box Part I, Part II, Part III 8000 words. The real reason Holmes didn't come straight home after The Final Problem? A certain Time Lord still can't land the TARDIS properly... Gen, apart from some ambiguous wistfulness. 

Songs of Spring
850 words. Holmes sends the manuscript of The Lion's Mane to the absent Watson -- though  maybe his absence isn't as long-term as all that. (Almost angsty enough to go in the "misery" section, but ultimately fluffy as a feather  bed.)

waid: (Default)
For SOME REASON, I draw your attention to this book , of which the author, whoever she may be, has said "What if Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were 12-year-old girls in space?" Out TODAY in the UK and next year in the States and Canada!

http://sophiamcdougall.com/2014/03/27/mars-evacuees-publication-day-and-excerpt-4/
waid: (Default)
Back in March, [livejournal.com profile] schemingreader wrote More To Me, a very nice Tony/Steve fic in which Tony is kidnapped and the following exchange occurs:

"Who took him?"

"Advanced Idea Mechanics."

"How do you know?"
"They tweeted it."


I wrote 90% of this very silly crack piece in response and then... didn't finish it or post it anywhere. But now I have! #IronManKidnapping, in which AIM kidnap Tony, and decide to livetweet it.

An excerpt:

A.I.M: LOL WE JUST KIDNAPPED @I_AM_IRONMAN! #winning

BlackWidow: @A.I.M Do you really see this ending well for you?

A.I.M: YOU’LL NEVER FIND US AVENGE-DURRS!!!!!! #muahaha #IronManKidnapping

A.I.M: SOON @I_AM_IRONMAN WILL BE ONE OF US!!!!!!! #IronManKidnapping

BlackWidow: @A.I.M Why are you using his Twitter handle?

BlackWidow: @A.I.M Why are you tweeting at your kidnap victim?

(My fic is Gen with background Pepper/Tony, not Tony/Steve. I love 616!Tony/Steve, and read quite a lot of MCU!Tony/Steve because there's more of it. But for myself, I cannot bear to split MCU!Tony/Pepper up.)

THUD.

Jun. 22nd, 2013 10:04 pm
waid: (Default)

Just finished a pro story that WOULD NOT DIE OMG. I cannot write short stories. Anyone who’s witnessed any of my fanfiction should be hilariously aware I cannot write short stories. My first novel was 200,000 words, FFS, of course I can’t. Masked Ball was supposed to be 4000 words and is 31,000. This was supposed to be 5,000 and is 10,500. I just hope they actually PRINT it.


Writing. The only career in which you have to apologise for doing twice as much work for free.

Now  I will be lying on the floor and drinking and maybe emailing people and replying to comments. (Thank you, everyone who’s commented/kudos’d Masked Ball!)

Still, if I do two more of these things, I maybe have a collection. But first, I have a week to somehow do all the editing on the book and write a lecture because it would be so nice to, for once in my LIFE go on holiday and not bring any work with me.

Meanwhile...


My mother on the phone to Little Waidbrother: Oh dear. Oh dear. Oh DEAR!
Me: What? What?

My mother: Tell Waid about it, she might want to put it in a  novel.

Me: Yes! I might want to put it in a novel!

Little Waidbrother: YES, HAND ME OVER I WILL TELL HER.
Me, on the phone to Little Waidbrother: Oh dear. Oh dear. Oh DEAR!

My little brother has hero-worshipped Middle Waidbrother for twenty-seven years. Middle Brother is five years older, 6’5, extremely handsome, fights crime with his brain (YES REALLY!) and now has a lovely bride to be, a little boy, and a sick father in law he helps take care of. So he is legitimately quite impressive.


Little Brother was always the slightly irresponsible, feckless, unfocused one, who went off the rails quite badly and scared us all when he was a teenager. But he has buckets of charm and musical ability and has pulled himself together pretty nicely, and he’s very geeky,  and he and I have always been pretty close despite the seven year age gap.

Middle Brother took Little Brother on his stag weekend in Bratislava and killd Little Brother’s respect for him stone dead. Murdered it. Dismembered it. I really don’t think it will ever quite come back. It is kind of terriblawesome.

Little Brother: [Whose thousand-yard stare can be heard down the phone] They kept making each other drink till they vomited and then keep drinking. Down pints in one go. Over and over again. Why do you do that, what is the point of that, why. I’ve thrown up before from drinking too much but I didn’t SET OUT to do that.  They ganged up on me when I didn’t want to drink any more. They all walked around with no clothes on...

Me: Oh wow, it’s like every stereotype about boys I never believed was true.

Little Brother: They went to the loo with the door open. They’re deaf, so they can’t hear the sounds. I’ve seen more of my brother’s penis this weekend than I ever needed to see.

Me: OH MY GOD YOU POOR BABY! [I was not mocking him, I was appalled at Middle Brother and wanted to wrap MY POOR WRONGED  TINY SURPRISINGLY CIVILISED BABY BROTHER up in a blanket and give him cocoa]. But... Middle Brother’s always so responsible!

Little Brother: *scoffs* I had to stop him getting arrested by the Slovakian police. I had to give him my shirt because he was wearing only a mankini. I had to carry him home [he is six inches shorter]. Twice. He ended up in a pink Power Ranger costume, being sick into a bag. I had to put him on the plane, telling him “just act normal, for twenty more seconds,” and him going “I can’t, I can’t, I’m fucked, I can’t.” It was terrible. Terrible. Terrible. Civilised! He is a little boy. I feel so much more grown up.

It’s pretty much a short story right there;  a young man comes of age but his view of his idolised brother will never be the same...

The sequel was that while Little Waidbrother had evidently assumed Middle Waidbrother was too committed to his course/drunk to care what Little Waidbrother thought of him, when Dad went to see him a few days later he found a still-hungover young father painfully conscious his little brother heavily disapproved of him. And talking about never doing it again and maybe getting new friends. As well he might, though I am afraid the horse has bolted. I would hate to be disapproved of by LIttle Waidbrother so hard, and he never even hero-worshipped me in the first place.


I am so sorry for/to the people of Bratislava.

RARGH.

Jun. 6th, 2013 07:38 pm
waid: (Default)

So, I initially "finished" the book I recently sold late last summer. But we didn't sellit until February (and I didn't get paid until May, and am still due another chunk of cash from America) because my agent kept making me revise and tweak it, even when I was thinking "...surely it's at least sellable as it is? And I could do this editing with an actual editor WHILE BEING PAID?"

The last phase of this was the most unspeakably miserable time for me. Let me tell you sometime about living in an unheated office building in King's Cross in October when it never stops raining, you have no money, no secure roof over your head, and your brain decides to wage a hate campaign against you. But not right now.

(For sheer biographical drama, I am actually quite glad I did the property guardianship thing for a while. The bit liiving by the British Museum in a solicitors chambers, chasing mice around my bedroom with a riding crop* at two in the morning, wandering into Soho at midnight to buy tiny cakes, had a certain Bohemian panache. But if you want advice on whether to do it yourself, my considered view is  NO FOR GOD'S SAKE DON'T IT'S TERRIBLE.)

But anyway, I did the work.

And I just found out... I did it for NO REASON. The version she sold? Is the version BEFORE. She plainly got her drafts mixed up. When I thought "surely we could sell this as it is" I WAS RIGHT.

OH THAT'S JUST FINE I LOVE POVERTY AND MISERY EVEN MORE WHEN THEY'RE COMPLETELY POINTLESS.

I just threw three entirely innocent My Little Ponies across the room in disgust.

*picks them up.*

*breathes*

Okay, my editors seems to be picking up some similar (but not identical!) issues I can use some of the work, the main thing is I am not there now, but FUCK ALIVE HOW COULD SHE.

*I have a riding crop because my aunt rode horses when she was 14 and my mother found the crop when she cleared out my grandfather's house and obviously when someone  thrusts a riding crop at you and says "Do you want this?" you say yes and put in the Weapons Corner along with the sword.

waid: (Default)

And it's done!

Do let me know if anthing is still messed up -- I've never particularly felt the lack of a beta before but I did, rather on this one. I realise that posting at midnight last night was not entirely wise; I've fixed everything (including a technically fine but clumsy repetition) that I'm aware of.
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Six months after Holmes’ return from the dead, the delicate equilibrium in Baker Street is disturbed when a stranger walks out of the London fog with a case – for Watson. Holmes is wary, Watson is fascinated. But who is the man calling himself Álvaro de León? And what does he really want?

In this chapter: Álvaro de León's alter ego returns with a final request.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 and Chapter 11 on A03. Comment either there or here.



Well, this was the first piece of H/W I've written in which there's actual on-page sex, rather than just the before or after. I HOPE YOU APPROVE. I have still to post a bit of Avengers crack, and then maybe -- MAYBE --  I will write WiL-verse porn for Wordstrings (and then get back to Antidote to Sorrow). But first i have a book to edit and a lecture to write -- I have no idea why I agree to these things.

waid: (Default)


Just barely managing to meet today's "deadline" -- I wanted to tweak this chapter slightly to add more sexy and I've been busy with pro work, also have been feeling vaguely ill all day but seem to be better now.

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Six months after Holmes’ return from the dead, the delicate equilibrium in Baker Street is disturbed when a stranger walks out of the London fog with a case – for Watson. Holmes is wary, Watson is fascinated. But who is the man calling himself Álvaro de León? And what does he really want?

In this chapter: MOAR heartbreak, repression, angst and misery... which  reaches a crisis point outside Watson's bedroom.


Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 on A03. Comment either there or here.
waid: (Default)

As you may have seen, I published today's chapter early, but I didn't get a chance to link here as it's my birthday and I was off shopping with my mother in Brighton, where  we failed to buy anything. No, anything at all. Unless you count a couple of doughnuts.

* *

Six months after Holmes’ return from the dead, the delicate equilibrium in Baker Street is disturbed when a stranger walks out of the London fog with a case – for Watson. Holmes is wary, Watson is fascinated. But who is the man calling himself Álvaro de León? And what does he really want?

In this chapter: HEARTBREAK,  REPRESSION, ANGST AND MISERY.  (coz it's my birthday.)


Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 on A03. Comment either there or here.
waid: (Default)

Six months after Holmes’ return from the dead, the delicate equilibrium in Baker Street is disturbed when a stranger walks out of the London fog with a case – for Watson. Holmes is wary, Watson is fascinated. But who is the man calling himself Álvaro de León? And what does he really want?

In this chapter: De León explains himself, Holmes is very, very frustrated at having to discard an earlier theory about Watson...


Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 on A03. Comment either there or here.
waid: (Default)

Six months after Holmes’ return from the dead, the delicate equilibrium in Baker Street is disturbed when a stranger walks out of the London fog with a case – for Watson. Holmes is wary, Watson is fascinated. But who is the man calling himself Álvaro de León? And what does he really want?

In this chapter: De León revealed!


Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 on A03. Comment either there or here.

BTW don't read the comments here until you've read the chapter! SPOILERS!

waid: (Default)

Six months after Holmes’ return from the dead, the delicate equilibrium in Baker Street is disturbed when a stranger walks out of the London fog with a case – for Watson. Holmes is wary, Watson is fascinated. But who is the man calling himself Álvaro de León? And what does he really want?

In this chapter: deductions, dancing, evidence I have some kind of mask kink I didn't know about, and what a trickster wants, what a trickster needs.


Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6 on A03. Comment either there or here.

waid: (Default)
Six months after Holmes’ return from the dead, the delicate equilibrium in Baker Street is disturbed when a stranger walks out of the London fog with a case – for Watson. Holmes is wary, Watson is fascinated. But who is the man calling himself Álvaro de León? And what does he really want?

In this Chapter: Yet more fog, Watson learns he SHALL go to the ball,  violence, Nathan Grey speaks.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 on A03. Comment either there or here.
waid: (Default)
Six months after Holmes’ return from the dead, the delicate equilibrium in Baker Street is disturbed when a stranger walks out of the London fog with a case – for Watson. Holmes is wary, Watson is fascinated. But who is the man calling himself Álvaro de León? And what does he really want?

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4
waid: (Default)

While I'm posting Masked Ball (3 chapters up, more this evening) I might as well also cop to this Pepper/Tony fic I wrote a few months back. I didn't mean to cheat on Holmes, it just kind of fell out.

Month of May. In which Pepper's birthday will always be the anniversary of Tony's kidnapping, things happen to and around Tony Stark in May a lot, and Lady Gaga has the flu. 3606 words.

waid: (Default)
Six months after Holmes’ return from the dead, the delicate equilibrium in Baker Street is disturbed when a stranger walks out of the London fog with a case – for Watson. Holmes is wary, Watson is fascinated. But who is the man calling himself Álvaro de León? And what does he really want?

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3
waid: (Default)


Six months after Holmes’ return from the dead, the delicate equilibrium in Baker Street is disturbed when a stranger walks out of the London fog with a case – for Watson. Holmes is wary, Watson is fascinated. But who is the man calling himself Álvaro de León? And what does he really want?

Chapter 1, Chapter 2


Further notes and massive apologies here

(It's a bit of a slow build, but I promise there will be sex, violence, and an actual masked ball in the end!)
waid: (Default)
Six months after Holmes’ return from the dead, the delicate equilibrium in Baker Street is disturbed when a stranger walks out of the London fog with a case – for Watson. Holmes is wary, Watson is fascinated. But who is the man calling himself Álvaro de León? And what does he really want?

Masked Ball on Ao3

Further notes and massive apologies here
waid: (Default)
I didn’t want to return until I could do so IN GLORY, which I defined as follows:


  1. Having finished a novel

  2. Having  signed a publishing deal

  3. Having actually got paid for it (which is supposed to be synonymous with 2, but HA.)

  4. Not currently depressed and only manageably anxious

  5. Most importantly, had finished the piece of fanfic I owe Tweedisgood and Perverse_Idyll.


SINGLE SHINES THE TRIPLE SUN. THE PROPHECY IS NOW FULFILLED.

Of course... the glory is somewhat impeded by the fact that this has taken so horribly, horribly long that probably no one is actually here any more.
I am so sorry to people who left wonderful, wonderful comments on my stories. Thank you all, I hope some of you see this. I didn’t mean not to reply. I kept thinking I would, but logging into livejournal made me feel ridiculously tense and guilty about not having finished the story, and I would put it off, and increasingly couldn’t bring myself to do it at all. I have barely looked at my friends page in ... (I DON’T EVEN WANT TO SAY HOW LONG) for the same reason. I MISS YOU ALL. But I just got in a knot where I couldn’t do it.

The above is entirely my responsibility and my issues and I know no one wanted me to feel like that, least of all the people who prompted the story! But unfortunately no amount of reassurance would have made it go away.

And I am so sorry to [livejournal.com profile] perverse_idyll and [livejournal.com profile] tweedisgood who very generously donated to charity for me to write something all that time ago only to have me disappear off the face of the world. All I can say is, if it took eight times the time it should have done, it is eight times at long. It was supposed to be about 4000 words. It’s 31,000.

And IT IS FINISHED. NOT A WIP. (Though I will have to proofread it as I go along, there are a couple of bollocksed sentences in there).
It is 11 chapters. I will post one every day possibly every other day if I have to fix something or if I'm insanely busy but there will NOT be big gaps. It is finished, I swear.

The prompt was this:

The Trickster. It's a mythic archetype all over the world: the god, demigod or cunning being/man/spirit who plays tricks on Gods and mortals, and thereby shows them something about themselves or the ways of the world. Loki, Prometheus, Anansi...

What if Holmes appears to have been completely fooled, bamboozled and defeated by a clever foe (needn't be any especially dark crime, so no need for gore and angst)and either in the process learns a valuable lesson about himself (and hopefully Watson, hint hint) or is in fact himself the trickster in some way and Watson is the recipient of the lesson?


The story is called Masked Ball. I’ll post in on Ao3 (because OMG, so easy!) but I’ll link from here. I’ll give the first chapter its own post LJ post in a second.

Yes, I hope I'l be able to return to Antidote to Sorrow. But I do have a load of pro-writer work to do and look how it turned out the LAST time I made promises, so for now, I must leave that as "I hope so."

So, um – tell me how you are! What have I missed? What’s going on? What great fic is out there?

EEEeee!

Mar. 15th, 2012 02:33 pm
waid: (Default)
Look at this lovely comment [livejournal.com profile] ketchup_fights left about my pro story, Not The End of the World!  (In which gay ladies in the last days of WWII deal with the terror of looming defeat, the guilt of being on the wrong side,  the trials of being so crazy about each other they can hardly stand it,  the  actual Nazi downstairs, and ghosts.)

Driveby rec

Mar. 5th, 2012 12:01 am
waid: (Default)

I just need to swing through quickly and tell you all to read this Sherlock fanfic on Ao3 by M_Leigh. It is agonising, one story that I think hardly needs the touch of slash to reinforce its emotional punch. It deals, unlike any other post-Reichenbach fic I've seen, with the particular agony not of "simply" losing one's best friend,  but of losing him to suicide, a form of torture Canon Watson is at least partially spared. But John cannot stop re-examining his every memory of Sherlock's life in the awful light of its apparent ending, cannot stop speculating about his earlier years as always unbearably focused towards self-destruction.



Every memory he has of Sherlock has become about his decision to throw himself off of a building. Every one. He cannot look back at anything Sherlock said or did without wondering: was that a clue? Was that a sign? Was he thinking about it even then? Or even if he wasn’t, if nothing about it was premeditated, the fact remains that somewhere inside of him resided some impulse, some urge, a kind of self-destruction that went far beyond hypodermic needles and a seven percent solution.

You missed it, the voice tells him, almost gleeful.There were so many signs, so many obvious signs he left for you, and you missed them, and now he’s dead.

And John's regrets. Oh my God. I won't spoil the chief of them, but I cannot resist quoting this passage:

He has never been this angry about anything, at anybody, and maybe that’s because he never loved anybody like this, either; he would always have thrown himself in front of a bullet to save somebody but only for Sherlock would he have done so with a kind of effortlessness, a pure and unadulterated joy at the sacrifice. But he could not step in front of Sherlock to save him, because there was no bullet, there was no aggressor save Sherlock himself, and John could not divide the Sherlock he knew and the foreign Sherlock he clearly never knew at all; he could not stand between those two selves and give himself up. He wishes he could have. He would have done it without thinking twice.


*CRIES AND CRIES AND CRIES FOREVER.* 


There's a little comfort at the end, thank God, but prepare for severe cardiac gouging.
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