ext_1608 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
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crack_van2003-10-03 02:13 pm
umbo.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2003-10-03 02:13 pm
The Accidental Finale by Valeria (R)
It's time for the second Homicide fic rec, and this time I've gone with something completely different, as befits a fandom with such a broad range of slash, gen, and het possibilities.
Fandom: Homicide: Life on the Street
Pairing: None, really, although there is reference to Kay Howard/John Munch
Category: Humor, crossover, AU
Story: The Accidental Finale by Valeria (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
verdandi, also known as violetisblue)
Website: http://www.certando.net; the Homicide fic is all here
This story is available at Vali's website and also on Schism and 11 cents.
Why this must be read: There are very few fanfic writers out there who do humor really well. There'scesperanza in due South, of course. And there's Valeria. She also does serious stuff quite well.
Valeria is wicked smart and sharp as a tack, and you don't want to get on her bad side. Some of the decisions *cough*Michael Michele*cough* that the Powers that Be *cough*Tom Fontana's an asshole*cough* made towards the end of Homicide's run incited the wrath of Valeria. We can all enjoy the results.
Yes, it's long. It's worth it to keep going though. Trust me.
The police lodge dance was shaping up to be a stupendous success.
The silver disco ball gleamed in the low light, casting colorful bits of glitter on the partygoers boozing and boogying beneath it. The music seeped into all corners of the room, lending a steady, thudding backbeat to every conversation. And throughout the splendidly decorated dance hall, the detectives of Al Giardello's homicide squad reveled in the festivities of the evening.
And why not? They were, after all, at the pinnacle of their chosen profession. They had achieved the status and position that some poor souls, after decades of faithful service in and out of uniform, would never see. They had faced down the sort of personal demons that would have sent lesser human beings into sweaty, gibbering lunacy. They worked for God. They had arrived.
Admittedly, some had arrived by more honorable means than others. The old days, the days when you could just look at the guy--and, very rarely, the gal--next to you and know they had earned their exalted station through blood, sweat and heroically suppressed tears, were long gone. Now the second floor squadroom sported a bewilderingly motley array of ex-IAD toadies, Brylcreemed chop-shop busters, stool pigeons, beauty queens, secretaries with guns, misplaced FBI agents and various and sundry hangers-on of a highly improbable sort.
The squadroom itself had changed, too; once a sickly-yellow, rundown cavern, befitting the harsh reality of the work done inside it, it was now as sweetly pristine as a tea room. Once, they were family, the real kind of fighting, feuding family that shared a bond surpassing the false camaraderie of baseball games and barbecues. Now they were like dimwitted junior high kids, gossiping and giggling, passing do-you-like-me notes from desk to desk and drooling over the new girl. Incongruous. Depressing. Disturbing, even.
But they did have nice new carpeting.
Go and read, my friends. You won't be sorry.
Fandom: Homicide: Life on the Street
Pairing: None, really, although there is reference to Kay Howard/John Munch
Category: Humor, crossover, AU
Story: The Accidental Finale by Valeria (
verdandi, also known as violetisblue)Website: http://www.certando.net; the Homicide fic is all here
This story is available at Vali's website and also on Schism and 11 cents.
Why this must be read: There are very few fanfic writers out there who do humor really well. There's
cesperanza in due South, of course. And there's Valeria. She also does serious stuff quite well. Valeria is wicked smart and sharp as a tack, and you don't want to get on her bad side. Some of the decisions *cough*Michael Michele*cough* that the Powers that Be *cough*Tom Fontana's an asshole*cough* made towards the end of Homicide's run incited the wrath of Valeria. We can all enjoy the results.
Yes, it's long. It's worth it to keep going though. Trust me.
The police lodge dance was shaping up to be a stupendous success.
The silver disco ball gleamed in the low light, casting colorful bits of glitter on the partygoers boozing and boogying beneath it. The music seeped into all corners of the room, lending a steady, thudding backbeat to every conversation. And throughout the splendidly decorated dance hall, the detectives of Al Giardello's homicide squad reveled in the festivities of the evening.
And why not? They were, after all, at the pinnacle of their chosen profession. They had achieved the status and position that some poor souls, after decades of faithful service in and out of uniform, would never see. They had faced down the sort of personal demons that would have sent lesser human beings into sweaty, gibbering lunacy. They worked for God. They had arrived.
Admittedly, some had arrived by more honorable means than others. The old days, the days when you could just look at the guy--and, very rarely, the gal--next to you and know they had earned their exalted station through blood, sweat and heroically suppressed tears, were long gone. Now the second floor squadroom sported a bewilderingly motley array of ex-IAD toadies, Brylcreemed chop-shop busters, stool pigeons, beauty queens, secretaries with guns, misplaced FBI agents and various and sundry hangers-on of a highly improbable sort.
The squadroom itself had changed, too; once a sickly-yellow, rundown cavern, befitting the harsh reality of the work done inside it, it was now as sweetly pristine as a tea room. Once, they were family, the real kind of fighting, feuding family that shared a bond surpassing the false camaraderie of baseball games and barbecues. Now they were like dimwitted junior high kids, gossiping and giggling, passing do-you-like-me notes from desk to desk and drooling over the new girl. Incongruous. Depressing. Disturbing, even.
But they did have nice new carpeting.
Go and read, my friends. You won't be sorry.