ds_profiles | Author profile: Crysothemis

Author:

crysothemis
Website/link to fic: Chez Crysothemis
Fanlore page: Crysothemis' fanlore.org wiki page
First DS fic posted: 1999
Full disclosure: Crysothemis and I are on each other's flists.
Pairings: Fraser/Kowalski, Fraser/Thatcher
Style and strengths: Crysothemis writes long, detailed, richly textured stories with a great sense of romance, partnership, and place. Fannish tropes abound, and her writing captures the fundamental sweetness of the show. Crys has a talent for capturing characters' voices and for writing humor. She has several novel- and novella-length stories, including fandom classic True North, as well as a few later short fics.
Other DS/C6D activity: Crysothemis had fic published in the zine Serge Protector and made quite a few story covers and several manips.
Some favorites:
IOU - FK, PG-13, a fabulous ep tag for Odds wherein Fraser collects his IOU on air.
"Okay, okay." Damn it, how did the Mountie get him into situations like this? But Fraser couldn't know what he was thinking. Fraser couldn't possibly. Ray made an elaborate gesture of using an air pen to write on air paper. "Here you go. One IOU for air."

"So I can collect on this whenever I need to?"

"Yeah, sure. You need some air, you come to me."

Fraser gave him a funny look and "pocketed" the IOU. "Thank you, Ray."

"Uh, no big deal, right?" He laughed, but it sounded kind of nervous, even to his ears. "I mean, you gave me air when I needed it" -- damn, he shouldn't have said that -- "so it's only fair."

"That air was freely given," Fraser said, catching his meaning instantly. "There was no debt involved."

"Oh," Ray said, and felt his face go warm. He shouldn't be talking about this, but it was too late, anyway. He'd already spilled half the beans. "So, uh, if I'm ever stuck underwater on a sinking ship and need some air, you won't count the IOU against me?"

Double Vision/Single Truth - FK, Adult, the one where RayK finds a photo of Miss Fraser and misses the connection.
"You could do worse than the Yank."

Fraser jerked upright. His dad was standing by the coat closet, the one that led to his "office." "Excuse me?"

"Oh, there's no point in playing innocent with me, Son. Do you think I don't know what happens when two men share a bed roll? Out in the middle of nowhere, nothing but stars and the Northern Lights above you, the scent on the wind saying you're more than likely to see another foot of snow by sunrise . . ."

Fraser closed his eyes. The worst part about having a apparition for a father was that he seemed to be able to read minds with painful clarity. Not that he had ever actually experienced that particular scenario, but . . . "Dad, please."

"There's no need to get huffy, Son. Just because I'm dead, it doesn't mean I'm blind, too."

Blind Justice - FK, Adult. The one where the consulate gets fumigated, Fraser gets poisoned, and Fraser has to go stay with RayK while they catch the bad guys.
He was standing on a snowfield, surrounded by crisp, cold air, but it didn't smell right. It was some sort of chemical spill -- yes, that was it -- only it didn't smell like chicken parts. It smelled sickly sweet and sharp, like some sort of neurotoxin.

A blur of motion, color in the vast white landscape, and he recognized the presence before he ever saw the face. "Ray?"

Ray was right there, standing knee-deep in snow, blue eyes and spiky hair, close enough to touch. "C'mon, Fraser."

"Ray, do you recognize that smell?"

"You're imagining things, Fraser. C'mon." And then Ray was kissing him, mouth hard on his, only he couldn't taste anything.

"Ray," he said, "Ray, Ray, Ray," and Ray was touching him, Ray had his fingers right there, only it was wrong this time, because he wanted so desperately to taste Ray's kiss, but all he could taste was bitterness. And then without warning the touch on his mouth and his groin vanished and Ray was gone, leaving him aching with the loss.

He was on his cot, in his office at the Consulate. It was morning, and he was awake and alone. But his mouth still tasted bitter, and his body still felt . . . oh, dear.