hedda62: cover of Time for Tea (time for tea)
Well, hurray! I can now announce that fic for the Waters of Time series exists. [livejournal.com profile] headrush100 has written Times Change (link is to her fic journal where there is also a link to AO3), PG-13 gen, summary: An inexperienced jumper gets more than she bargained for when she lands on a ship of the line during the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805. I haven't read it, but I'm sure it's good as Headrush is an excellent writer with a nice ear for voices and Research Skillz.

And also yay, I don't feel weird about this. I mean, you all know I'm fic-positive (it would be really hypocritical of me not to be) but there's still that moment of knowing someone's taken your characters and universe and done things with them, and it passed without a qualm and with a good deal of joy.

In other news, I am skipping Jazzercise today, which is a rare occasion these days since I've been participating in their 30-classes-in-35-days challenge - which has stretched to several days more because of snow closures, so I have to take 7 more classes in 10 days, which is quite doable at this rate. Today I'm just a bit sore, excessively earwormed with Taylor Swift et al., still tired from Friday's drive to Allentown and back (directly followed by an evening at the concert hall, the Folger Consort and friends doing music related to The Merchant of Venice with several actors including Derek Jacobi and Samantha Bond doing readings from the play; it was lovely but I was a little too zonked to appreciate it fully), and it's snowing so class might have been canceled anyway, I haven't checked yet. I have been for a walk, and now I'm going to stretch and read more of Death or Liberty: African Americans and Revolutionary America and have hurray-P-is-briefly-home brunch.

I have been sniffly, fatigued, and a bit depressed lately, so it's good to have a day with nice things in it. Hopefully I can get back into posting (here and elsewhere) as March slams into spring gear.
hedda62: pay phone with "green roof" (phone)
"Control-Alt-Delete" actually got the fic-writing juices flowing, where all the shipping and anguish of the last episode failed to. So:

Fresh White Paint, Control-POV, 1077 words of mostly interior monologue. She's not code-named Control only because she gives the orders.

This came about because I started thinking what a boring trope it was that spoiler ), and then I considered it in context and words started happening. I probably have more to say about the episode and where the season's going, but this will do for now. Aside from "what do you mean, trilogy?" that is.

Managed to excuse myself from doing what I should have been because all writing is good, yes, especially when you've been somewhat blocked? And also writing Control will help me understand Ted. Uh-huh, self.

ETA: and because I have that eerie sense of timing, posted this right before AO3 went down - but it will be back as soon as Greer allows it.
hedda62: Ben Linus, well-bruised (bruised ben)
Aaand posted. Snap.

The Tale of Henry Gale: Benjamin Linus staying smug and conflicted while being imprisoned, beaten, analyzed, sewn up, confessed to, offered a strange combination of foodstuffs, and forced to read Dostoevsky. Set during Lost S2, but not really comprehensible unless you've watched through S4 at least. Cheers for nonlinear storytelling.

In other news, someone asked me today where I get my ideas. People actually say that! (For the record: "From a corner of my twisted brain.")
hedda62: Harold Finch, half in shadow, text: Oh, Mr. Finch (finch)
Finished the story! What Rough Beast, at AO3, sorta kinda Harold/John, in the sense that THEY ARE IN IT and hold hands at one point. Post-"4C."

This is the kind of story that results from trying to figure out what was happening in Reese's brain those last few eps (I thanked [personal profile] enemyofperfect in the notes and I mean it), deciding that it was easier to approach it from Harold's POV, and then getting caught up in a confused mess of dead dog memories and Asimov and Yeats. Nevertheless, it is a thing and it's done, and now I can get on with other stuff.

I'll be back possibly today (or it may be later) to blather about bulletproof kinks.
hedda62: my cat asleep (Default)
Big news for the day: we went to a local shelter and adopted two cats. We've been thinking about doing this since getting over the initial grieving for our old cat, and the shelter opened again today after the holiday down-time, so we went, thinking "well, we'll just look," and "maybe kittens!" and of course ended up with two adult cats, who are settling in now - meaning that Kurtz (we named neither of them, but I think the names are sticking), the 5-year-old orange tabby, came out of his carrier and told us yes, this was home, didn't we know he'd always lived there, and he would like access to the entire house now, thank you. Whereas Lancelot, the almost-solid-black 2-year-old, is hiding under Younger Son's bed. But he was sociable enough at the shelter, so I think he'll come around. Photos when I haz them.

In other news, I finished and posted the Irrelevant Gift Exchange story yesterday; it's a Root and Shaw sorta-gen coda to 3.10 "The Devil's Share," with baked goods, called Advent Cookies. I'm glad my recipient liked it, and it turned out okay, but it was a painful slog to get through even 1460 words of it. There are just times that the writing muse deserts me entirely, and this is clearly one of them, so don't be expecting anything new in the fannish realm from me in the near future, and I hope I can get that Time and Fevers epilogue written without writhing and gnashing of teeth. But perhaps I'll be more in the mood for marketing plans and PowerPoints, so all is good.

I'm pretty sure I won't be watching the new Sherlock episodes before they start airing on PBS later this month; just can't be arsed to acquire them otherwise. I've managed to block Sherlock-tagged posts on tumblr, and people are being pretty good about tagging, so I shouldn't get too spoiled. Meanwhile (still fighting the cold, still tired in the evenings - hey, in the afternoons) I watched most of Doctor Who season 4 again - oh Donna, you are still wonderful, and I'm still angry at the end of the season, though I think it may be only in part because what happened didn't need to happen and in part because it just wasn't given enough time. This is a common problem, this "let's do a really big and horrible thing in the last five minutes because we had to spend way too much time earlier in the show blowing stuff up" issue. Or the equivalent for other distractions (like Norwegian scenery), or for simply Too Much Plot. I think I might have been okay with the Donna thing if it had been discussed more. Or reacted to more, or in other ways than the David Tennant Patented Determined and Sad Stare. Or if the show managed to meta-analyze the theme of forgetting better (since it turned up rather neatly in "The Day of the Doctor" as well as lots of other places). This is obviously too much to ask; I do realize that. And I do applaud them for ticking off as many boxes as they did in that whiz-bang double-parter (I am never not going to laugh at the opening credits whipping out triple the names they usually have time and space for).

I need to go play with a cat now.
hedda62: Harold Finch, half in shadow, text: Oh, Mr. Finch (finch)
Revels = ended. Harold fic = finally done.

This Rough Magic (@AO3)

~9500 words, gen. In which Harold and his Machine discover the brave new world of theatre, and I get to indulge myself in Shakespeare all over again. (Though this is really more like "the heart is hard to translate" than "Rich and Strange," despite being ostensibly (and deceptively) a casefic, although Harold's Machine is a lot more publicly theatrical (pun intended) than Simon's.)

Also, totally not Finch/Reese, except everything is Finch/Reese, but I managed to limit myself to hearteyes and eternal gratitude this time around.

I kept extremely quiet about this one (to everyone except wonderful betas [personal profile] pendrecarc and [livejournal.com profile] penwiper26) because it was one of those where I couldn't believe no one else would be seized by the same idea and want to write it and, heh, I should know better; no one else has my strange ideas. And certainly no one else has six or possibly seven Shakespeare-based PoI fic titles. *drowns book*
hedda62: Harold Finch, half in shadow, text: Oh, Mr. Finch (finch)
Oh hey, I wrote a thing with Shaw and Grace and Harold and John, and it is here: Fierce. It's kind of silly and serious all at once, and I would likely go on at length about why but it's 11:30. Suffice to say there are moments when I think Harold is an idiot, and in one of them I had a flash of Shaw and Grace passing the Bechdel test, and this is what came of that.

I was going to write vegetable gardening fic today about John Reese a prickly lettuce spy disguised as Romaine, but I didn't get to that. And no, I didn't have a cocktail until this evening.

Also I just watched "The Cabin in the Woods" and I'm pretty sure I liked it; at any rate I feel drenched in blood. Fran Kranz is still awesome. Dude.
hedda62: Harold Finch, half in shadow, text: Oh, Mr. Finch (finch)
And another crossover, this one a touch more likely:

Faith, the one where Peter Burke goes to a funeral and meets Harold Finch and talks about baseball and believing in people. For L, because we lured each other into White Collar and Person of Interest, and they go together!

(Also, subtle Lost joke, because I couldn't help it.)

I still want someone to write the Awesome Non-White Ladies Having Lunch crossover (Diana Berrigan, Joss Carter, and Lanie Parish), or, considering the end of the "Castle" season (that I finally got to), Joss being asked to counsel Kate Beckett on her career choices ("Did I hear right that you got headhunted for the FBI?" Dead silence). They must know each other, after all...
hedda62: Ben Linus, well-bruised (bruised ben)
I have posted the ridiculous Cabin Pressure/Lost crossover in which Martin Crieff meets Frank Lapidus in a bar, Because. If you are one of the five people who will read it (a generous estimate), you can find it on AO3:

No, We Only Have Plane

Apparently my Lost fics take place on Christmas. In this case, Martin's second Christmas of the year...
hedda62: my cat asleep (Default)
Last two ficlets! (Except for one not requested directly in the meme, which I am still thinking on.)

For [personal profile] raven, Simon and Alys, Vorberg's POV.

For [personal profile] pendrecarc, Sam Shaw and unexpected affection.

This was fun, thank you all.

ETA: Put all of the POI ones up in a collection at AO3.
hedda62: Harold Finch, half in shadow, text: Oh, Mr. Finch (finch)
Two more ficlets, and I will try to get to the others soon!

For [personal profile] philomytha, Simon and Finch going to tea at the Residence, which turned out to be the start of a new Sparrow-verse fic, which I will write in full... sometime.

And for [personal profile] killalla, Nathan and Grace in a bar. Because.
hedda62: my cat asleep (Default)
I'm working my way through the suggested ficlets slowly, but I'll get to them all, I hope. So far:

Part of a version of "Anecdotal Evidence" set in an AU where Gregor/Ekaterin works, for [livejournal.com profile] avanti_90.

Finch and Reese pick strawberries, for [livejournal.com profile] yunitsa.

In other news, here's a link to entomologist Mike Raupp talking about cicadas on Jay Leno the other night (with bonus Russell Crowe). I have the distinct pleasure of getting to listen to this guy once or twice a year; he's our extension's version of a rock star, or at least a standup comic.
hedda62: my cat asleep (Default)
I slept late today (kept awake late by a mysterious foot cramp, and then rising briefly early to make sure the kid was up to get on a train and a bus, then dead to the rainy world for hours, oh well so much for being back on Eastern time) so I'd better get on with other stuff before nattering about present tense. But I wanted to note that I put up the Lost fic. (I have no idea if I have any Losties on the flist, or anyone who's watched the whole show but is not inclined to self-attach cutesy fan names, but probably someone will read it? People have subscribed to me. Still an odd concept.)

To Make Amends In, 5400 words, post-series on-island, ends and beginnings. The cast list would be a spoiler, as is everything in the story. The title is from "A Christmas Carol," because of Dickens and because of redemption arcs and because it made a weird kind of sense to me partway through.

Enjoy! I did.
hedda62: Harold Finch in his HAT (hat baby)
And yet another story with a Romeo & Juliet title, if slightly more appropriate to subject matter this time. For [personal profile] killalla's prompt, which went something like "Reese gets his suicide mission and on the last night finds the courage to ask Harold for what he wants," which I pretty much funked out on (but I likely would have killed [livejournal.com profile] yunitsa off if I hadn't).

Night's Candles, Reese/Finch, explicit, definitely post-season 2 with spoilers.

The plot makes less sense than it should but I'm hoping that will be less obvious to others than it is to me, or that people can suspend disbelief.


(I think this is the last one for a while. Maybe. Probably.)
hedda62: Harold Finch, half in shadow, text: Oh, Mr. Finch (finch)
Story's up; came in at just over 1100 words, which is super-short for me.

A Heap of Broken Images, which is another of those working titles that made it through to the final version. Root and Harold and the Fisher King, blasted lands and castle towers and the usual amounts of landscape and botanical imagery.

I had the, um, root of the idea a long time ago, but it came together when I realized that Ms. Groves thinks she's Galahad and the Machine is the Holy Grail. Or that made sense to me; dunno if it will to anyone else. *shrugs*
hedda62: Harold Finch in his HAT (hat baby)
Whew, I finished the prompt-fic. Not my best work by a long shot, but 'twill do.

Untalked Of and Unseen (I couldn't think of a better title, in the end), Finch/Reese (though quite unsatisfied), hallucinations, hurt/comfort, and beating with sofa cushions. Also worked in some swearing for [livejournal.com profile] yunitsa's sake. :)

Set after 2.03, but quite a lot of 2.21 bled in (this is possibly not the best phrase to use). I may have some Issues with Harold. But at least I didn't whap him with his HAT.
hedda62: Harold Finch, half in shadow, text: Oh, Mr. Finch (finch)
Aaaand it's up. All I Know Is Flight, Finch/Reese in the motel room of self-restraint.

Which, heh, reminds me I have to make a reservation for Friday night in Allentown...
hedda62: Harold Finch, half in shadow, text: Oh, Mr. Finch (finch)
Okay, so I have a Thing for Michael Emerson's voice, what can I say.

The Rest Is Silence, holy shit explicit voice kink fic, Reese/Finch. I hope to God this exorcises something, because I have work to do.
hedda62: Harold Finch, half in shadow, text: Oh, Mr. Finch (finch)
(I don't know; it's what Danielle would say?) There's a prompt on the PoI kink meme for a Lost crossover (because of so many actors being common to the two shows. Fusco even had a cameo!) with specific instructions not to make Harold and Ben the same person.

So, naturally, that's what I woke up with today, and I wrote a brief snippet of what could be a story but totally won't, and posted it as "not a fill" and I'll post it here too in case anyone's interested. Because I think becoming Harold Finch would be an interesting kind of redemption.

an essay concerning human understanding )
hedda62: Harold Finch, half in shadow, text: Oh, Mr. Finch (finch)
Anything more reflective will have to wait, but... I finished the story, because I got to the point where I had to, and here it is.

Halcyon (sequel to Phoenix), Harold/Grace/John (or whatever order you want to put them in), angst with resolution and a slightly fluffy ending that basically uses Joss Carter to avoid having to write a three-way sex scene. Many people will of course be sadly disappointed in me as a result. (This is not the summary I used on AO3. This is special for you.)

I am with Lionel on this: holy shit.

(Also: oh, Mr. Finch.)

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