April 29, 2010


Filed under: Fan Fiction — fiona @ 8:07 pm

i Arahal

“I, too, killed someone once.”

Ashmael searched in vain for some nuance, some inflection of emotion, to tell him if Arahal was proud or ashamed of his admission. That he could find none did not surprise him – Arahal was a har who spurned the excesses of emotional incontinence; aloof and ascetic, he embodied the very essence of Gelaming philosophy.

To hear him announce that he was a murderer was almost like discovering that that world really was flat, after all, or that water flowed uphill, or the Tigrina was a modest, self-effacing individual who enjoyed a purely casual and offhand relationship with his looking-glass.


Even The Longest Day

Filed under: Fan Fiction — fiona @ 7:30 pm

Fan fiction of Storm Constantine’s Wraeththu series. All characters belong to Storm Constantine. Caeru, Cal and Pellaz. Spoilers for “Shades of Time and Memory”, and much jerking of tears.


Even The Longest Day

Some days were so beautiful, so perfect, they could only be Almagabran days. Cal lay on his back staring up at a sky which stretched from one side of eternity to another in an arc of glorious blue. Not even the faintest wisp of cloud sullied those pristine heavens. The sun was golden and warm on his body and all around him the bearded stalks of grain whispered and rustled in the warm breeze. Poppy flowers trembled delicately, the paper-thin scarlet blooms scattered throughout the field like unexpected drops of blood

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In A Dark Place

Filed under: Fan Fiction — fiona @ 7:17 pm

Fan Fiction of Storm Constantine’s Wraeththu Series. All characters belong to Storm Constantine. Cal and Velaxis. Possible spoilers for “Ghosts of Time And Memory” if you know what you’re looking for. Hermaphrodite porn, yay!

In A Dark Place

In the heat, he finds it impossible to sleep.

Inside the cabin it is claustrophobically dark. There is a window – a porthole, to be accurate – but no light enters though it. Outside the full moon is hidden behind cloud.

He swings his legs carefully over the edge of the narrow bunk, hearing it creak with his movement, and sits on the edge. He is naked, but the still, dead air within the cabin does not cool his skin. He can feel the slight but ever-present motion of the ship traveling through the wooden structure, like the vessel’s own heartbeat, up through his feet, his groin, his abdomen, his chest, his head, making him feel slightly giddy and off-balance.

He would open the window if he could, but it doesn’t open. A practical measure designed to keep the ship from being swamped by a high wave if some careless passenger were to leave it open, but tonight, on this calm ocean, on this airless night, it seems pointless and vindictive.

You’re an idiot, Cal. he tells himself, and his self does not disagree. You didn’t have to be here in the first place.


Bark’s Got A Bomb And A Fish In The Room Below

Filed under: Fiction Without Fans — fiona @ 6:58 pm

One man owns the world. One man rules the world. The accepted theory is that he’s telepathic, and can tell what everyone’s thinking, so no one dares think anything radical or revolutionary, or naughty.Whether it’s true or not is beside the point. People believe that it’s true, so it works, and the Man stays in charge.


We Move Through Heaven

Filed under: Fiction Without Fans — fiona @ 6:53 pm

From Earth to Kappa Crucis, from Kappa Crusis to Earth is not so far. The distance varies. This time has been the furthest.

On the way back we took on Honoured Calla’ae, amongst others, but with us all the way has been Director Rantretg.

I hate him.


Four Myths

Filed under: Fiction Without Fans — fiona @ 6:50 pm


Cold Spring

The fire burned brightly on the edge of the surrounding darkness, close to the shore-line, next to the ocean.

The salt water licked dark, oily strokes across the dampness of the sand, gentle caressing fingers counting every grain, arranging each tiny particle with loving precision, then, unsatisfied, returned moments later to renew the task and improve on its delicate handwork.

The water threatened to engulf the fire, but the tiny blaze had been built with artful care a scant stretched-stride from the high water mark, and the tips of the exhausted waves grasped at it in futile frustration, out of reach, but only just.

San-San took another handful of the dried seaweed they had collected earlier and threw it on the fire. At first it hissed, as the ice crystals which had formed on its surface melted, boiled and evaporated all in the same instant, then it began to pop as the small bladders expanded and burst in the heat of the flames. San-San liked the noise they made, and he threw another handful on, just to hear it again.


April 23, 2010

Hello world!

Filed under: Fan Fiction — fiona @ 8:16 pm

In the beginning was the pencil, and the pencil begat The Stuff. And The Pencil climbed out out of the primeval ooze and evolved into the typewriter. Evolution proceeded apace, and one day The Computer was invented, and lo, we had 5″ floppy discs and Wordstar and other incredibly modern and spiffy things.

Some time later, being rather wiser in the ways of electronic obsolescence, I entrusted The Stuff to the care of an imaginary network of invisible machines, rather as one sticks a message in a bottle and throws it into the briney.

After a while, the imaginary network settled down a bit, so I decided to tidy up all The Stuff and keep it in one place. I used to use a cardboard box for this purpose. Isn’t the future marvellous? It’s everything I was hoping it would be, really!