Miscellany
Posted Send Us A Quiet Night (4k words). Yuletide 2016 for coyotegestalt. Georgette Heyer - The Quiet Gentleman.
Posted Don't Ask Me (10k words). Yuletide 2015 for indiefic. Snowpiercer fix-it.
Coldcocked - A small Dr Horrible snippet to cheer up TAO.
In process
Une vie moins ordinaire, a (damn long) sequel to Chansons de marin (Gus Knickel/Johnny Jóhannsson), a Buried on Sunday/My Life as a Dog crossover.
In the Darkness, an AU that is being written in response to a challenge - F/K having sex in a confessional. I forget the challenge and the challenger... sorry. The brain is the first thing to go, I guess. Fraser's a Jesuit priest; Ray... well, that would be telling.
Of fire and roof, a dS/BtVS crossover with Mark Smithbauer and Oz. Denise Raymond is writing it; Mark's just commenting from my brain.
Strange Loops, an AU set in Chicago (no!) in which Fraser and Ray are molecular biologists. Really.
AuKestrel et al. Strange loops: a biochemical
study of the inevitability of attachment between
Benton Fraser and Ray Kowalski in an alternate
due South homoerotic fanfiction setting. Ann. Slash,
2000: 1-353
Radio Silence, an AU set during Desert Storm. Honest.
Mirrorball, a due South/Buried on Sunday crossover with LaT. Gus Knickel meets Ben Fraser.
A sequel to Waiting to Fall.
A snippet from a writing group
The topic: write about your finest moment on a playground.
I don't know that one would necessarily call it a playground, nor could you say that I had a "finest" moment. The fact of its existence was enough for me, its existence and all that that implied: school.
Yes, you may well look at me from the corner of your eye, but up until that point I had had my lessons by the potbellied stove, the occasional cracks and splutters from too-green wood punctuating my grandmother's gentle voice. But they had moved their library to Sukiliaq, an island in Hudson's Bay, and there at last was a community large enough to maintain a school, a school with other children of an age for Grade Four.
Not, of course, that they had teachers: the supply was inevitably scarce and increasingly irregular. It was no real surprise to me that my grandmother was drafted within a week of our arrival; all that mattered was, well, the prospect of having other children to play with, a lunch to pack, an excuse to be late to chores or dinner.
As often happened, we moved in the dead of winter, but this, too, was no hardship because our previous posting had been above the Arctic Circle. At least on Sukiliaq we had hours and hours of daylight, and the weather was comparatively warm.
Which is not to say that the "playground" was anything more than a flooded field. But the ice was smooth and shoveled, and there was a kerosene heater in a shed. We spent more hours on that "playground" than we did in school, and even my grandmother seemed more lenient than she ever had before, eventually proposing morning classes, starting at seven, and leaving us the afternoons free.
So I don't recall that there was a finest moment on that playground. The playground itself was the moment, that playground and the friendships I made.