Dang. This one still gives me chills. ( Read more... )

Unpopular opinion: aside from the theme song and the occasional Sarah McClachlan (and Dire Straits) song used to fine effect, I don't dig on the dS soundtrack so much. I know! What's that about, kids? Why do I hate the Holly Cole Trio so much? What did they ever do to me? Plus, Holly Cole is hot, despite her overly-careful Torch Singer hair. And yet, I don't want to ever hear her sing another song as long as I live. Hmm.

Hey, that little midget kid with the baseball bat was the Old School Orphan from A Cop, a Mountie and a Baby. They're all about recycling extras.

Also, my DVD player is sticking. Alas.

Holy oh my god in hotpants, it's prillalar's birthday! There are only a handful of people as magnificent as Hal, and she could totally take any and all of them in a cage match! Because, as kestrelsan says, she has flying monkeys to do her bidding.

And now, I'm going to take a delicious shower with Kiss My Face Early To Bed bath gel. It's my favorite soap of all time!

I've been rewatching the due South pilot, which features Ray Vecchio's loud shirts, baby-faced Frannie and Fraser's beautiful hands and his lovely white torn-necked cable-knit sweater. Which I believe we see again in Mountie on the Bounty.

Also, Ray's hilarious snow suit.

Paul Gross may well be the most beautiful man ever born. Aside from Brad Pitt, maybe. But he can act. So he wins. Plus, sled dogs love him. That means something.

The stories I wrote in 2007.

The Jimmie Situation, this year's yuletide story, written for anitaray. Pulp Fiction. "We've got to be real delicate about this Jimmie situation."--Jules Winnfield explains why.

( the rest of them )

kimberlyfdr asked for more Rodney in glasses from Ophthalmology:, ( boys who wear glasses )

resonant8 asked me to revisit Third Party:, ( two years later )

gritkitty asked for a Radek story from Paper Moon:, ( ghi-fish in klur sauce )

alizarin_nyc asked for a bit more inhale:, ( exhale )

emeraldsword asked for some sports bra aftermath:( support )

Here you go. My debt to society is paid in full!

for tommyboybbi, TS: ( Gido's Surf 'N Stay )


for iamsab, XF/etc: ( she was an army brat )


for jaebi_lit, SGA: ( 10 Downing Street )


for theemdash, SG-1: ( three pairs of socks )


for pearl_o, dS: ( 10 miles from the nearest town )


Bonus snip for saffronhouse, SGA: ( fair and strange )

Five little things:

( pemmican, dS )

( Peep, SGA )

( hunt, SGA )

( Candy Mountain, SG-1 )

( Walk-Off, SGA )

Here in beautiful downtown my place, I often forget what I had for lunch yesterday. I usually forget when automatic drafts are due on my bank account and sometimes, sometimes I forget why I'm even supposed to be awake in the morning. (Huh. Why is that again...? Ohhh, dayjob, right.)

At this moment, it seems to me that I've forgotten how to write, what with a pack of stories just lolling around in listless lassitude lounging on my hard drive. So using ONLY THE POWER OF MY MIND (and, okay, LJ Seek), I went surfing around for reminders of a brighter time when perfect strangers thought well enough of my stories of yore to rec them. This was prompted in part by a delightful soul who sent me feedback for a story I'd written three years ago. A story I'd forgotten I'd even written. This is easy for me to do, especially since I am between personal sites at the moment, a problem I hope to rectify as soon as I have a steady job and can buy a nice one bedroom/one bath domain name in a nice neighborhood. To demonstrate how easy it is for me to forget my own work, I once worked on a story with the charming synchronik, and I came across a line I really especially dug on, and I sent him the latest draft back with my additions and etc., and complimented him on this snappy line. He wrote me back to say, "You wrote that line, you dink." I could feel his eyes rolling even from the far-off reaches of cyberspace. Such is my tenuous grasp on the paper bullets of my own pure brain.

Sad, no?

What was I saying?

Oh, yeah. One wonders why it's so hard for me to keep track of my work; it's not like I'm prolific. In the time it takes astolat or cesperanza to write six stories of 50 K+ each, I'll have written (and re-written) one paragraph. Twice.

Still.

I hunted up four little stories hiding out on ds_flashfiction:

let down
the right light
duvet
the dotted line

And I found one on sga_flashfic:

My Fair Linguist

Now I will attend to the stories I'm supposed to be writing. Maybe I've forgotten enough about them that I can rewrite them entirely!

You know, I'm getting mixed messages from the Universe at large. It seems I always get a better job offer if I've recently been kind of snotty to someone basically undeserving of such baring of teeth. This is reinforcing the wrong virtues, in my estimation.

I've got a new three month assignment with a new temp agency starting tomorrow-- could it be a legit temp-to-hire gig? YOU decide!

In honor of the end of my term of slack-assity, I now post the snippets I wrote in a blur last night before bed:

For mz_bstone, ( SGA: Rodney, Superman )
For nytelover, ( SN: surprise pairing, hacks )
For wickedwords, ( SGA: John/Rodney, snow cake and peppermints )
For taselby, ( SG1: Jack/Daniel, twilight, pears, cup, sword )
For liviapenn, ( SGA: Ronon/anyone, maybe Ronon-on-earth? )
For tingler, ( SGA: John and Rodney, turquoise cheese )
For sdwolfpup, ( dS: RayV/Fraser, blue jeans, hot summer day )
For pearl_o, ( dS: RayK/Fraser, the first five )
For theemdash, ( SG1: Jack/Daniel, a necktie )

for JennyO's Female Gen Ficathon, a story for cherryice.

( Kowalski )

resonant8 wrote Experiment for meeee eeeee eeeeee yeeeeEEEE! ::coughs delicately:: Yes. (For me!)

And you know, as she wrote me something, it's only good manners to write something back. Maybe not so good as this: "I can't imagine," Rodney says crisply, "how you ever expected to be disappointed by my mind." But my mom says it's the thought that counts! Especially in Vecchio/Kowalski slash. Yep. That's what she says.

So. For resonant8. (I wrote it for her a ways back, as a companion piece to her story Left, but never finished it. Now I've stuck it in a box marked done.)

( Right )

It's runpunkrun's birthday, kids. Have a ( cupcake! )

I sort of combined a few drabble requests here and there. But there are five of them.

offender for laurashapiro and planetalyx

( due South )

together alone for allamerchad

( Harry Potter )

cameras for nestra

( Sports Night )

all for one for shayheyred and prillalar

(I conflated handcuffs and pirates. It could happen to anyone!)

( due South )

recruiting for panisdead and prillalar

( Harry Potter )

Um. So. It's just a little too long for the current ds_flashfiction challenge. And well. It was originally conceived as part of the 5 Things Challenge story I was putting together for Stella. (I still need two more parts!)

( Satisfaction is the agent )


I love me some Stella.

I wrote this at work today. (Down with The Man!) It's a little Stella AU character study. Try it, you might like it!

( white gloves and wet umbrellas )

This I wrote quite a while ago, with The Te One's help. It's the beginning of an unfinished Fraser story set, like 'white gloves and wet umbrellas', well before Fraser goes to Chicago on the trail of his father's killers...

( Tommy Sealskin and the rest )

And may I direct you to my fabuline icon? The most supreme Punk made it for me with her own little hands!

I wrote this for Hal's birthday, a few weeks back. What with one thing and another going on at anorakbird and almostnever, I thought I'd share it with the world at large...

All hatemail can go to McSwain! or Cesare!

***

"Whatcha got for me, Benny?"

He'd hoped it was lunch, but of course his luck wasn't that good.

Fraser looked a little out of whack, even for Fraser.

But he wasn't bleeding anywhere Ray could see, and for a pleasant change of pace there was no one holding a gun to his head.

"Well, Ray, I... That is to say, I've... Ah. How best to phrase this..."

Dief wandered into the room with two little kids. One of the kids was trying his damndest to climb onto Dief's back, while the other one tugged at his jacket. Or blanket. Or whatever the hell the first kid was wearing.

"Leave off, will you--"

"Pippin, you simpleton, the beast will have you for supper if you--"

The two of them tumbled together on the bullpen floor, with Dief looking on with detached interest.

"-- but I'd make a fine Warg rider, Merry, I have excellent balance, everyone says so--"

Ray sighed.

"Don't tell me. They followed Dief home?"

"Not as such. I found them this morning in the park. I approached them to remind them of the city ordinance against open fires, and Dief indicated that--"

"Hey, you two!" The kids continued to struggle; Dief was pawing lightly at whoever was on top. "Hey, Frick and Frack, I'm talkin' to you, here. This is a police station, not Wrestle Mania, you got it?"

They looked up at him, and the one on top dropped his head and whispered to his pal, "Who's Frickenfrack, Merry?"

Ray rubbed his eyes.

"So, are they runaways or what? Got a last name for me? If we're lucky maybe I can get their moms to come pick them up before Welsh gets back from Ed Burke's retirement lunch--"

"Oh, they're not children, Ray," Fraser explained.

"Oh my god, they're circus midgets aren't they? You went and busted a bunch of munchkins--"

"On the contrary, Ray, they're neither circus folk nor little people--"

"We're hobbits," The first one said helpfully. "Tell him, Merry."

He and his buddy (Merry) were finally standing up, and Ray could now tell that they weren't kids. Unless they were really freaky, mutant ones. They had big, creepy hairy feet and pointy ears. And bad perms, if listening to Frannie bitch during the 80s had taught him anything.

"You already have done. I don't think it needs repeating."

"Ray, this is Peregrin 'Pippin' Took and Meriadoc 'Merry' Brandybuck, lately of The Shire... somewhere in Middle Earth, I would imagine."

"Hobbits," Ray said dubiously, eyeing them like they were gonna spring at his throat any second. He tugged Fraser closer to hiss in his ear. "Where the hell did you get these two, Fraser? My nephew's got GI Joes taller than these guys--"

"Look, Merry! Pastries!"

"Just the thing. I've been a mite peckish since that brace of doves--"

"No, Diefenbaker." Pippin was playing keep away with the wolf, three squashed looking donuts in his hands. "You can have Merry's. He doesn't care for sweets."

"I would wish you to talk less, but you'd only eat more and then there'd be no pastries for me at all," sighed Merry.

"Oh, don't go on so. This one has a kind of custard in it. Here, now, it's grand--"

And Ray felt his eyebrows climb as Pippin popped a Bavarian-creamed finger into his friend's mouth, and Merry sucked on it with an appraising expression.

"And this one tastes a bit like biddenberry--" and Pippin replaced his first finger with his second, and Dief licked some excess jelly off the floor.

Dear sweet Christ, Fraser couldn't have just brought circus midgets?

"So if they're not kids," he said eventually, as he tried to tear his eyes away from the spectacle of two guys (or 'hobbits', whatever the hell they were) staring meaningfully into one another's eyes as the first one fed the second one a donut, "Why are they here? Did they actually break a law, or are you just messing with my head?"

"They need our help, Ray. We have to help them find the way back to their own country."

"I'll tell you what, I'll just look up the Hobbit Embassy and get them a cab, and you can buy Dief and me a slice of Delgado's for lunch. How's that?"

"Ray, this is a serious matter. Their peoples are at war, and these two young... fellows are part of a pivotal effort to avert total world domination by an unsavory dictatorship."

"Of course they are." He rubbed at his fading hairline and bit the bullet. "Whatta we gotta do?"

"Well, first--"

Pippin moved to wipe his sticky hands against Merry's shirt, but Merry laughed and caught his wrists, leaning in to peck his friend's mouth.

"First we'd better get those two a room." Fraser flushed a little, and Ray wondered just what kinda floorshow those little guys had already put on. "And then, I got this crazy feeling you're gonna ask me to go on a quest, am I right?"

Fraser looked relieved.

"Well, not a quest as such--"

And Ray closed his eyes, wondering if Fraser would bitch at him for carrying a firearm across interdimensional lines.

END