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Former fandoms never die. They just lurk under your bed and wait.
...Which is to say, I just went and checked, and I not only have the official t-shirt of the Lois McMaster Bujold Mailing List (circa A Civil Campaign) but also a University of Vorbarr Sultana t-shirt. (And two Curse of Chalion mugs with the Bastard's Prayer on the back, although I think I was supposed to have given one of them to Dave about ... seven years ago? Dave, did I ever give you a mug? And, yeah, my copy of Dreamweaver's Dilemma is signed and numbered.)
All of this is brought to you by my reluctance to actually suck it up and write this next bit. SO MUCH TALKING.
And now, a meme, maybe. Maybe it's just a thing I've seen a couple of people post. Anyway, IT'S A MEME NOW.
Out of utter curiosity, if I was chained up in your attic, and I had to write you one story, what would you request? Or alternatively, what's something you always hoped I'd write but know is never going to happen?
PS for best results your attic should be warm and free of crawly things and get plenty of natural light. Also I will require regular supplies of Diet Coke, Clif bars, toast, and cookies.
All of this is brought to you by my reluctance to actually suck it up and write this next bit. SO MUCH TALKING.
And now, a meme, maybe. Maybe it's just a thing I've seen a couple of people post. Anyway, IT'S A MEME NOW.
Out of utter curiosity, if I was chained up in your attic, and I had to write you one story, what would you request? Or alternatively, what's something you always hoped I'd write but know is never going to happen?
PS for best results your attic should be warm and free of crawly things and get plenty of natural light. Also I will require regular supplies of Diet Coke, Clif bars, toast, and cookies.
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The story where Ivan is required to impersonate Gregor.
Or the one where Aral's past catches up with Miles. Either one.
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Also, the first one--the mind simply boggles. And, oh, poor Ivan. (Now I am trying to work out why in all the worlds Ivan would need to impersonate Gregor, and how he'd do it.)
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OH MY GOD YOU JUST MADE MY YEAR. IS IT TIME FOR THAT BOOK TO COME OUT YET?
HOW ABOUT NOW?
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Oh. Oh oh oh! I WAAAAANT.
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!!!
*koff*
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...This is starting to sound like a good idea. Too bad you don't have an attic. :)
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(There is SO MUCH TALKING that Antoniou just made a second cameo. IDEK.)
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(Antoniou! Whatever, I will love it. ALL THE TALKING. Just think how gratifying it will be when they finally get to the sex. Well, except for how they'll have to talk about that a lot, too. Oh, Barrayarans.)
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(PRETTY COMPLICATED. EVEN FOR BARRAYARANS.)
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...Blessedly, no. It was going to be Mal/Simon, and it was built on some kind of inverse relationship logic--precisely because each of them was more emotionally invested in someone else, they could have sex with each other. I have no idea how I was going to get them to have sex.
But then along came Stargate, and then I gave Due South one more try and ended up writing the hockeyfic, and whatever was supposed to happen with Mal and Simon got wiped clear out of my brain. :)
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Because I am a crazy person, I actually have not entirely ruled that out.
Her hand twisted in the fold of his robe, tightening her grip without the sharp tug that would have signaled an urgent need for his attention. It wasn't so long ago that he'd carried Shy everywhere; surely he hadn't taken more than a deep breath or two since she was born. Surely he'd barely blinked his eyes since a motley team (not even a team, not even three-quarters of a team) sent back in time from the SGC invaded his life on the eve of revolution and turned it upside down in ways he'd never expected.
Daniel dropped his hand as the camouflage of people around them dissipated, and continued down the street toward their home. His stride automatically accommodated the length of his daughter's legs, but no one hurried much around here. With the Goa'uld gone and a human council in place, people felt comfortable dawdling a little on their way around the city. Anyway, the worst heat of the day had not yet come on, and it was still rather pleasant to be outside.
Daniel turned the last corner before their home and, seeing no one but well-known neighbors between them and their door, he turned and swept Shy up over his shoulder. She giggled, whisper-quiet but close to his ear, too soft to draw the attention of anyone they passed, though the neighbors watched them go, unsurprised by their foreign antics. He waited until they were in the house with the door shut behind them before he dropped Shy on her feet and said, "Honey, we're home."
It was for Shy's benefit that he said it, signaling that it was safe to speak English, since Jack and Sam were sitting right there at the table. Jack was mixing something in a wooden bowl while Sam sat beside him, working on something fiddly in the light of the window. Jack glanced up at Daniel, and Daniel looked down at Shy to cover the disorientation he still felt, knowing that Jack knew that Daniel was imitating a different man with the same face when he said those words. The phrase had already been fixed as a ritual by the time he met this Jack and Sam, part of Daniel's effort to keep Shy from spilling a linguistic anachronism all over the ancient world--and the language of the revolution all over the camp.
Shy, forever inventing her own rituals, echoed him as she unwrapped her headscarf, revealing bright blond hair tied up in anachronistic pigtails. "Sam, Jack, we're home."
Sam didn't look up from the mechanism she was working on, only said, "Welcome home, honey."
Jack said, "Shy, honey, come here and taste this, I need a second opinion."
Shy started to move in his direction, and Daniel said quietly, "Sandals."
"Sorry, Jack," Shy said, kneeling to unfasten her sandals, and then added one of Sam's phrases, which she did more and more often lately. "One second."
"Sure," Jack said, giving Daniel a faint, apologetic look. Jack had a tendency to forget rules. Daniel shrugged as he knelt to take off his own sandals. It'd probably be Jack cleaning the floor if Shy tracked dust over it. Sooner or later he'd learn to insist she be careful, but in the meantime it was easier to remind her.
Shy shrugged out of her outer robe as well without being reminded, and hung up robe and scarf on the peg by the door. Daniel hung his up beside Sam's, covering Shy's on the lower peg, and followed at a more sedate pace as she ran barefoot to Jack. Daniel leaned his hip against the table, careful not to intrude into Sam's light. It was easy to lay his hand on the back of this Sam's neck; she had no instincts against an approach from behind.
She tipped her head back into the touch, in fact, smiling up at him without taking her hands from the mechanism. When she tilted her chin up and pursed her lips, he leaned down obediently and gave her a brief kiss hello, different and the same as his own--his first--Sam.
Beside him, Shy said to Jack, "it needs salt," and in the same breath, to Daniel, "Aba, Jack needs a kiss too."
"Sure," Daniel said, glancing over at Jack without quite straightening up from kissing Sam, making his smile a little wry but not at all apologetic. Jack smirked this time, confident that he was forgiven. This was still new enough to feel strange to Daniel, but after all the stories he'd told Shy, every night since she was born, she didn't seem to find it strange at all.
He still dreaded, a little, selfishly, the day she started calling Sam and Jack Mommy and Daddy, and started forgetting that her three parents had not always been these three. But for now he had what he had, and Shy was still his daughter and no one else's in the living world. Daniel leaned over, resting a hand on his daughter's head as he did, and gave Jack a kiss hello.
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I've worn them to work and nobody even bats an eye; they blend right in. *g*
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