It is 1947 and the summer-light is slowly leaving, like everything else in the world. Joan Redfern has another meeting with the Doctor. (Personae: Joan, Martha, the Doctor. Highly AU from Human Nature/Family of Blood on.)

Shamefully, am posting this un-beta-ed and un-loved, because I want to get rid of it before I vanish completely into the ethers of research papers and transatlantic travel and internetlessness. There may, as a result, be a rather-more-polished replacement text at some point in the unspecified future. Rather a lot of experiment in form and narrative, though sections of this are rather more straightforward than is my wont; I blame the fact that Joan Redfern is rather more straightforward than is my wont.

( Of course poetry doesn't go about attaining the truth, and that's exactly the sort of thing you'd expect from a person who'd waffle about beds twice removed. Imitations. The smell of forgiveness; the geometry of time. )

This is reasonably up-to-date, and links to everything in this journal that I do not despise utterly.

( sorted by date & fandom. )

~700 words; written a long time ago (& set some time during S1; I don't really know any canon after S3, so can't tell you if this is going to not comply), posted now. also, hi.

( five things you didn't know about sam winchester: )

Martha, seeing the world. (Or universe, rather.)

(Should point out that virtually all of this was written before Last of the Time Lords aired, and also holds to some of my personal theories (viz. it is All About Gallifrey Really, And Martha > You). & yes, I am being surprisingly productive lately, for the simple reason that I'm trying to get things finished before I pop off for a month.)

( And he takes her to a planet which has no name because it has never needed one, and the sky is dark and boiling green, and the tempest is all around them singing strange songs about the universe and howling with ceaseless ferocity, and the dark oceans are roaring, waves capped with white foam. )

hp_summergen reveals are out, & since I am a complete and total narcissist (irredeemably), I insist on reposting things with ridiculous speed. This was written for rosivan, beta-read (as usual) by avendya (who also provided the title) & egged on rather by faeriemaiden, who is terribly encouraging. (Originally posted here; as usual, apologies if you see this twice.)



Summarised very tritely: Sirius faces the realities of war.

( London in the early morning is crisply white, frosted over, a monochrome study in geometry and angle and shadows like lace or like shutters across the icing-sugar snow. For a few minutes it's pristine, undisturbed, unstirred; carte blanche, tabula rasa. )

Massively, massively delayed spn_gaiman entry. Gack.

Title: turn left for the sunrise
Author: noldo_/ressie_noldo
Crossover: The Facts in the Case of the Disappearance of Miss Finch, from 'Smoke & Mirrors'
Rating: G
Recipient: mithborien
Author's Notes: Strictly speaking, this isn't as much of a crossover as it should have been -- it takes off on the premise of Neil Gaiman's brilliant short story 'The Facts in the Case of the Disappearance of Miss Finch', makes a couple of wrong turns and goes completely insane somewhere along the way. Any actual Good Bits were probably due to wanderlight's beta job, avendya's strange ideas, or such_heights's cheerleading; the strange bits are probably due to the (prescription, for the record) drugs I was taking at the time.

( The lighting is terrible and the makeup is wildly unconvincing, and by the time Dean's rolled his eyes through five different acts (rubber-masked 'werewolves' and blood that looks suspiciously like tomato sauce and sullen green-haired pseudo-punks with fangs and a hugely unconvincing beheading and 'the magical Marvin on his flying trapeze') Sam's almost ready to believe that there's no truth to it: nobody ever disappeared here, unless they died of the boredom. )

Princess Leia Does Not Care About You, by such_heights and noldo_

Gen, mostly involving Sirius Black and other assorted bods, 5076 words, PG or PG-13 for some appalling language and innuendo of a slashy nature.

To summarise: In which Sirius is a Doctor Who fanboy, James gets progressively more arseholed as the night progresses, and sanity is conspicuous by its absence.

Notes on the existence of: A collaborative effort brought to you by the addled lunacies of the excellent such_heights and yours truly, written entirely in parentheses during a marathon IM conversation. Please blame her for the funny bits and blame me for the less-funny more-misguided ones.

Any personal injury incurred while reading this is Not Our Faults. You probably won't need to know all that much about Doctor Who to read this, but it might or might not help.

( Prongs, you are my only love, don't be ridiculous! But you're going to run off and have red-headed babies one day and I've got to keep my options open. )