Jul. 26th, 2016
Here are the fics I wrote for the July prompting challenge on the Watson's Woes community.
1. Scratch Prompt #1: ’Tis But a Scratch
2. Twenty seven thousand and rising Prompt #2: Roll The Dice
3. Moving Prompt #3: A cardboard box
4. Apocalypse Prompt #4: Horsemen of the Apocalypse
5. The Tache Prompt #5: A False Moustache
6. Dinner Invitation Prompt #6: Food, Glorious Food
7. Epidemic Prompt #7: Epidemic
8. Living in the future Prompt #8: The Wonder of the Age
9. Test subjects Prompt #9: "Please stop petting the test subjects."
10. Higher Power Prompt #10: A higher power
11. The Soldier, the Lion-headed man and the man with the Head of a Bull Prompt# 11: Threesome
12. Syndexioi Prompt #14: Rehabilitation/Recovery
13. Handwritten Prompt #18: Handwritten
14. R is for... Prompt #19: Great Minds Think Alike: AU with alien crime
15. Mine Prompt 21: (21 song salute) You Will Be Mine
16. Thx 4 Nothing Prompt 27: Thx 4 Nothing
Jul. 6th, 2016
03:29 pm - Update
Mar. 24th, 2014
11:05 pm - Hobbit birthday party
It's my birthday on Friday! If you'd like a ficlet, leave a prompt in the comments and I'll get round to them as quickly as I can.
Aug. 2nd, 2013
07:02 pm - Update
Um... yes. Well. I haven't updated this journal since January - oops!
What about a Cowboy is on hiatus: I've taken it down from AO3 but I have every intention of finishing it... one day.
At present I'm writing Vorkosigan fanfic because a Dark!Gregor idea wormed its way into my head and wouldn't go away. I post new episodes wen the previous one gets to 100 hits. Turns out there aren't that many Vorkosigan fanfic readers out there. (or at least they're not reading my stuff)
If you want to catch up, try this AO3 link
Jan. 21st, 2013
08:25 pm - 13 words
Where have my 13 words gone???
I'm posting a 221B to What About a Cowboy every day, but it's day 21 of the year so I've now posted 21 of them. And, by my reckoning (OK my calculator's reckoning) 21x221=4641. Why, then, does AO3 tell me the complete work consists of 4628 words. Where have my other 13 words gone????
Jan. 18th, 2013
04:32 pm - Convention
You know what, we should have a Lois McMaster Bujold convention.
Jan. 14th, 2013
07:24 pm - What about a cowboy
What about a Cowboy?
Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief,
Gerard was taking him to school that day, just as usual, and then when they'd turned the corner by the church he'd glanced round at Sherlock, said "Got your seatbelt fastened tight? Good. We're going to have a race" and...
... And it had been fun: honest. Glorious fun, with Gerard driving like a mad thing and both of them screaming in delighted terror and laughing dementedly as Stephen in the follow car and then Adam and Sylvette in mummy's car and then some policemen in police cars and then a silver Mercedes that fired oil out of its engine - no, really, he'd SEEN it - had joined in. But then they'd hidden in a barn and Gerard had given him a milkshake which he didn't particularly want or like but Gerard said he had to and then when he woke up there wasn't anyone to kick or bite anyway. It was dark and a bit scary and he couldn't seem to move much. There was something over his head, and by his side and - he understood at last - he was in a box.
He tried kicking at each of the box's sides, and banging against the lid, but he was too small, or else the box was too strong, and he couldn't make any headway. He may - he would never admit to it, of course, but we can imagine - have cried a little at that point. But mainly, as the hours dragged on, he found he was just so, so... bored.
He knew people would be looking for him. Mummy had sent Adam and Sylvette, hadn't she, and the silver car probably belonged to her, too.
"Close your eyes, poppet. Up you come," and for once he didn't fight being held, didn't object to being called poppet. He screwed his eyes tight shut and let Daddy lift him up.
There was a funny noise, and Daddy said "Froggy now, chop chop" and swung Sherlock around so he was playing the froggy game, clinging to his Daddy's back like a rucksack, holding on with long legs and toes and fingers, just like a marsh-wiggle. "Eyes tight shut, Froggy," Daddy said, and then there was the funny noise again and Sherlock held on tight when they swung round.
Then Daddy stepped back and Sherlock was squished between Daddy's back and the wall and he wanted to wiggle and tell Daddy he was getting squished but there was that funny noise again and he wanted to laugh but there was that NOISE again and he couldn't work out what it was but it was LOUD and it was wet and
...and it was hours later, when Sylvette was washing it off him, that he opened his eyes and realised it was blood.
"WHY?" he demanded, but Stephen just said "because that's what you have to do, squirt. Chop chop now." And Adam wouldn't look him in the eye at all.
He hid in the library and rang Mycroft at school. He had to pretend to be Sylvette, which was stupid, and if the people at the school were stupid enough to believe he really was Sylvette then he doubly didn't want to go. "Myc!" he said desperately, "I can't get Mummy or Daddy and they say - Sylvette and Adam and Stephen and all of them, not Mummy or Daddy - that I have to pack up and go to school. I don't, do I, Myc?"
But Mycroft had turned into one of Them, and the last hope he had of being told he was right, he should follow the Anti-Kidnapping Plan and refuse to go, vanished. Mycroft said. He had to be a Boarder.
Mycroft was exactly ten years older than his brother and so found himself just at the point of leaving school as his small sibling was dragged unwilling through its doors. Mycroft had a position to keep up; prefect, fencing champion, math olympian - enough attributes for his superiority to be clearly but not offensively demonstrated, but not enough to eat into the time he spent on his real studies, into the workings of his classmates minds.
He supposed he should be pleased Sherlock had consented to allow himself to be dragged into school, that he wasn't currently kicking, biting and screaming. They had both had the best self-defence training money could buy, but in deference to his size Mycroft had also taught Sherlock enough rudimentary attention-seeking noise-making moves to assure himself his brother would be safe from any non-professional molestation or abduction
But, second, Mycroft couldn't help Sherlock when the little boy was, in the universe of school, just a new bug.
Sherlock hated Mycroft. Sherlock hated everyone. Daddy hadn't been there when he woke up after the box and the blood and everything. Mummy had been away working, of course, and nobody else would talk to him about it. But it was INTERESTING, honest. The blood was all over his face and his clothes, and where had it come from? Daddy had stopped him looking and Daddy said sometimes there were Reasons and in the Heat you had to take orders and find out about the Reasons afterwards. And it had been in the Heat, of course it had, he'd been kidnapped, not stupefied!
Only stupefied didn't mean "made stupid" of course, only stupid people thought that; it was a joke. But the Heat was over now, so where were the Reasons?
Myc would have understood, only somehow the horrible school had taken Myc and turned him into Mycroft, playing at being a grown up and keeping all the Reasons to himself which wasn't fair and wasn't sharing and wasn't FAIR.
If you cried they hit you, so he didn't cry after the first night, and he broke one boy's arm on the second night and bit two others on the third and he hated it all, hated them all. But most of all he hated Mycroft. Because Mycroft was the Betrayer.
He realised he probably didn't have enough money to get very far if he only used his actual cash, but he thought it was reasonable to get access to his own money some other way, so he pinched the credit cards off of two of the masters and left them IOUs and instructions to Mycroft to reimburse them from his trust fund.
He knew the cards would be tracked, of course - it was quite an interesting puzzle. He managed to find a map in the stupid school's stupid library and worked out where there were likely to be cash machines, and he worked out which ones were within walking distance. He made it off the grounds and to the first one at around 1am and took out as much as the card would let him, and then hit another around 2. Then he posted the cards back to the school and caught a bus.
She let go his arm at once and he ran up the bus stairs, as if he belonged to one of the people up there. And he was lucky again upstairs, because no-one there had seen what all the fuss was about and ignored him when he sat down quietly just behind the stairs - not at the back, where there were some drunken people making a lot of noise, but not at the front either, where there were some people who wanted a fight. There were two quiet ladies sitting across the aisle from him but he sat very still and they didn't notice him. He had escaped. Next stop: Brighton.
The train was the last one of the night, or should he call it the morning, and he had been careful to buy two tickets and to take the homeless man's empty cup with him so he could play "my dad's in the loo" if anyone asked. But no-one bothered.
But the third day he'd barely walked into the hotel lobby before a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and, when he looked up, he realised at once it was no good screaming or trying any of the techniques Myc had taught him in The Plan. Because Mummy and Daddy must be working together, if they'd sent Mr Westerby AND Mr Bond.
When Mr Westerby came back he nodded to Mr Bond and took Sherlock's hand and they all went to the hotel dining room for breakfast. It was like that all the time; one of them would relax or look around or eat his breakfast, but the other one had his eyes on Sherlock every single second. There wasn't even an instant when he could have got away. They were, he realised, really good.
He ate his breakfast and braced himself for all the questions; where had he been, why had he done it. But they never asked him anything.
"It's like this," Mr Westerby said. "Stay at school or there's a good chance you'll be killed. So - behave."
"Because your mum and dad both work at fighting bad guys and the bad guys think if they grab you they can make your mum or your dad do what they want."
He huffed at that. Daddy had come and fetched him out of the box when he was kidnapped, that was true, but he hadn't been there afterwards.
"What bad guys?"
"Just... bad guys." Mr Westerby said.
"Very bad guys," Mr Bond said. "You can help, though."
"Who sits behind you in History?"
"Who sits behind him and two places to the right?"
"You see? Your school is probably the safest place in the country just now. But if you don't have your wits about you, how can you help keep yourself safe? Which boys would be on your side if bad guys broke into the school in the middle of the night?"
"Not that they will-" Mr Westerby said.
"Or who could you rely on if they did break in and you needed a runner, to go and get help. Where would you send someone TO get help?"
"Mr Doyle would help... and there's a phone in the office and another in the hall..."
"See? Now you're thinking."
"All right," he said sadly. There was no help for it. He'd go back.
Jan. 8th, 2013
So the big reveal is over, and most of the snippets I posted are down as "anonymous" still. And my posting to an archive of our own must BE there, because someone has actually commented on it, but I can't find it either under the fandom stocking collection OR Vorkosigan fanfic. But I didn't.t imagine it, honest! Here's a direct link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/6
Dec. 26th, 2012
07:40 pm - Fandom stocking again
Humph. I must admit, I expected the Fandom Stocking entries would be unlocked at, you know, Christmas. Wrong again. Turns out it's January 6th - and people still seem to be adding stockings. Well, I've written a snippet for everyone who posted a stocking before December 11th and listed vorkosigan saga as one of their wishes. And I'm not going back and doing the later ones, sorry.
Dec. 19th, 2012
08:36 pm - Aargh!
Complete fail tonight trying to post the first chapter of a WIP onto AO3 - I can see how to add a chapter as you go on, but how do you post the first chapter without it showing up as a finished work? Grrrr!
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