hedda62: my cat asleep (Default)
The Last of the Songfics!

For [personal profile] ailis_fictive, who asked for something Lewis and whimsical, and picked song #8, which was Bob Dylan's I Want You. Which means this nearly wrote itself.


Robbie Lewis strolled back into the office he shared with Hathaway and put the cup of coffee down on his sergeant's desk. A pale hand reached out, vaguely searching; with a sympathetic chuckle, he pushed the cup into the curve of the fingers.

"Any luck?" he said.

Hathaway brought the coffee to his mouth, apparently with some difficulty in getting the hole in the lid lined up with the hole in his face, and took a sip with the kind of desperate drug-seeking passion that implied he would have drained the whole thing if it hadn't been about a million degrees Celsius. Then he shook his head.

"How did you stand the sixties?" he said.

"Ah well," said Lewis, "once in a while one of us would hitch up the camel and forage for beans in the Arabian desert, and then we'd grind them by hand--"

"No. What?" Hathaway shook his head again as if it might lend Lewis's words some sense. "I meant--"

"I know what you meant; just taking the piss. Not getting on well with Dylan, then?"

"I'm up to the cracked bells and washed-out horns. No apparent association with anyone or anything in Wyatt's life. Profound and whimsical poetry it may be, but not worth a lot as clues."

Very early that morning they'd been handed the murder of Jeffrey Wyatt, a visiting American scholar who'd just given a lecture on the works of one Robert Allen Zimmerman, otherwise known as Bob Dylan. So far their only lead was a piece of paper clutched in the dead man's hand with the words "the guilty undertaker" scrawled on it. Unfortunately, no undertakers had been discovered among Wyatt's associates, nor anyone with a name like Sexton or Gotobed or Diggory or Morticia. A quick Google had provided the origin of the quote, and Hathaway had begun excavating the song. He didn't look like he'd stopped since.

"Well, I'll give you that Dylan can be dense enough to plug drains. They had plenty of music that wasn't, at that time, when I was a little young for clubs and concerts as yet, by the way. Baby, you and me, we've got a groovy kind of love, that sort of thing. Got to get you into my life. No lonesome organ grinders there. And you should talk."

"Most of what I play doesn't have words. Or they're in Middle English or medieval Latin. With occasional forays into Japanese commercial jingles. And most of what I listen to uses straightforward English phrases that form a cohesive narrative or express an easily deduced emotional state."

"Yeah, and speaking of which, I deduce that you need to get outside into the fresh air and clear your head. Even if you're planning to pollute the atmosphere while you're at it."

"Let me just finish the verse." Hathaway addressed himself to the paper again. "'Cracked bells and washed-out horns, blow into my face with scorn' -- no horn players in the vicinity, no scornful women named Belle, no one who's visited Philadelphia lately, no laundries -- any other suggestions? -- 'but it's not that way, I wasn't born to lose you.'" He glanced up, reading from the paper with a dramatic emphasis worthy of Shakespeare. "'I want you, I want you, I want you so bad; honey I want you.' Anything there, you think, sir?"

Except that looking at you makes me feel about eighty, no. "I think you need to finish your coffee and go out for a walk," Lewis said gently. "And I'll get onto the drunken politicians until you get back."
hedda62: my cat asleep (Default)
But meanwhile, back to the songfic prompts. Here's for [personal profile] kivrin, who wanted a Peter-centric "White Collar" thing, and happened to pick song #11, which was Florence + The Machine, Never Let Me Go, which struck me immediately as one of the least Peter Burke-like songs I could think of. I did manage to work out how to approach the challenge - I mean, all the water imagery made it rather obvious, really, but it did turn out as Peter thinking about Neal.

Anyway. *flails* Spoilers for early part of current season.

Peter Burke is not an imaginative man )
hedda62: my cat asleep (Default)
Still working through the songfics; I'm hoping the rest want to be short, too. Here's a double drabble for [livejournal.com profile] izhilzha, who wanted Castle, Beckett, #4, which was Cream, Deserted Cities of the Heart.

Upon this street where time has died.

The line ran over and over in Kate's mind as she lay in bed. Skip and repeat. She couldn't remember where it came from (Castle would know; it was the sort of thing he could pull out of that database of useless facts he called a brain) but she knew what it meant. Time had died for her when her mother had, and though she'd gone on -- and done plenty with her hours, when she allowed herself to think about it -- the second of Johanna Beckett's last heartbeat lingered, and Kate could be thrown back into it in an instant. Like that guy in that movie… ("Groundhog Day!" Castle crowed in her head.) She couldn't ever break away, because time was dead, and everything done since was an illusion, not just her accomplishments, but everyone else's too, everything she thought was real and solid and comforting.

The arm over her slid down to her thigh, caressing, and a sleep-saturated voice murmured "Nikki…" against her shoulder.

As she turned over to berate Rick for confusing her with a figment of his imagination, she wondered if maybe the clock had started ticking again.
hedda62: my cat asleep (Default)
We have been to the panto! Which is not something you get to say often in this country, and in fact I had never been to one before, but it turns out that there is a company of British Players (one of J's co-workers belongs to it, not British himself though many of them are, he played the villain, boo, hiss) who do one every year, and it was great fun.

Lewis Secret Santa posting has been delayed a few days while people get their assignments in (I can sit here and feel virtuous for having mine done early). Stories will probably start going up Wednesday or Thursday; I will try to post a link but am going to be traveling so that may be delayed. It's anonymous until the reveal, so no too-public guessing, but I suspect it's going to be painfully obvious which one is mine.

I will keep working on the songfics. Here is [livejournal.com profile] yunitsa's, under a cut because she hasn't seen the latest episode yet and I don't want to spoil the Moment of Finchly Delight.

She wanted Finch/Reese, #7, which was Paul McCartney, Driving Rain. (Set unrealistically soon after the episode ends, in an alternate universe and weather pattern.)

learning curve )
hedda62: my cat asleep (Default)
Okay, so [personal profile] avanti_90 asked for Sherlock as Time Lord and song #2, which is The Great Curve by The Talking Heads. And as soon as I saw that I knew Irene had to be in it too, because she is The Woman. And so this happened, this very strange thing, and if I had to post it somewhere I wouldn't know whether to call it Sherlock/Irene or Sherlock/John or Sherlock/Earth, but luckily I don't have to choose, I can just dance with it. What it is with dancing today, I don't know, especially since I can't do it, and I love dancing to this song.


cut is bigger on the inside )
hedda62: my cat asleep (Default)
Okay, I've decided that how I'm doing this is to post songfic meme responses as I get to them, and take particular songs out of circulation as they're requested, so I don't have to do them more than once. (Which means that as of the moment #s 1, 3, 5, 9-10, and 12-15 are still available.)

So, this is for [personal profile] philomytha: Duv/Delia, dancing, #6, which was Simon and Garfunkel, El Condor Pasa.


Duv was getting better at dancing, Delia thought as she let him lead her into a twirl in time with the lovely, familiar music. Even given that there'd been a lot of balls recently, in the lead-up to the Imperial Wedding, she was inclined to think he'd been practicing. Smiling inwardly at the notion of him gliding around his office with an invisible partner, or reviewing footwork in the cabin of a fast cruiser between Komarr and Barrayar, she shifted closer and let him steal a quick kiss without breaking rhythm.

They'd booked a long run of dances together -- the privilege of engaged couples -- so when the music ended she stayed inside his embrace, and caught the expression on his face as a lone string player strummed out a slow beginning to the next tune.

"What is it?" she said, and then the music began in earnest and he was guiding her into it, with even more confidence than before, but a distant look in his eye.

"I'd rather be a hammer than a nail," he said, not singing, but in time with the beat. He questioned her with an eyebrow; she shook her head.

"The tune's familiar, but I didn't know any words went with it."

"It's an Escobaran song, originally. But we sang it on Komarr. I'm just… intrigued, to hear it here."

Which meant it held some significance, probably protest-related, that Delia wasn't about to inquire into under these circumstances. Because that would make Duv trip over her feet.

"Well," she said, executing a perfect rond du jambe and moving in close again, "I'd rather be a socket wrench. Or possibly a smoothing plane."

Duv grinned. "Why does it not surprise me that you can come up with those examples on the spot? How about a plain old screwdriver?"

"I'd rather be a screwdriver than a screw," Delia mused, and then, lowering her chin and fluttering her eyelashes, "Unless it was a really good screw."

Oh, it was delightful to make him flush like that. She gave him a few seconds' fantasy, and then added, "But you'd rather be a screw too, love. Or a nail, even."

"And why's that?" said Duv.

"Holding things together," she answered, and he swung her around and the ballroom and the world revolved about them.
hedda62: my cat asleep (Default)
Okay, since I'm still incapacitated (though back to actual limping now!) I'm going to present you with this meme, which I'm pretty sure I made up. I will be very happy if anyone else decides to do it too, but you're not "tagged" or anything; go ahead and make me make a fool of myself without fear of reprisal.

I am going to call this the "But I never write songfic" meme, but titles are flexible.

1. Open up your music player. Hit shuffle.

2. Note down the titles of the songs that come up, in order. You'll want 15 in the end. You may skip songs on the basis of inanity, incomprehensibility, purely instrumental nature, repetitiveness of artist and/or sentiment, utter fricking terror, or reasons you'd never share with another soul, but try not to be too selective. Put the list in a safe place.

3. Ask your friends to assign you a song number along with some other information of their choosing: a fandom, a pairing, character(s), situations/genres etc.

4. Somehow, blend the elements and create something for each suggestion: a fic, a few lines out of a fic, a drabble, a wild scenario, a filk, anything you choose. You do not need to reference the entire song; a line or a stanza or thematic material will serve, and there is no need to quote directly. Post the song list and the resulting creations. You may want to include links to lyrics or videos, especially if the song's not likely to be familiar to the recipient.

I have my fifteen songs ready. They are certainly not the songs I'd choose if I went looking for appropriate ones, which is all to the good I'm sure. So go to it.

Fandoms can be anything you know I'm familiar with, including Vorkosigan, Lewis, Person of Interest, Sherlock, White Collar, Patrick O'Brian, Dalziel & Pascoe, Harry Potter, Doctor Who, Castle etc. etc. go wild really. Crossovers fine too. (Those who know my original universe and want to use that, feel free.)

I don't promise to finish these anytime soon, but I will get to them.

June 2016

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