Website/link to fic: in media Res
Fanlore page: Resonant's fanlore.org wiki page
First DS fic posted: 2000
Full disclosure: I'm a fan of her writing, whether it be fanfic, meta, or her journal.
Pairings: Fraser/Kowalski, with the occasional Ray/Ray and random odd pairings.
Style and strengths: Resonant is a giant in the world of Fraser/Kowalski fic, and deservedly so. Her stories are full of delicious descriptions, tangible emotions and hot, hot sex! She has one of the best Kowalski voices in the business! One-off phrases stick in the brain, like "He looked down, looked back up with a grin. "Fraser, my friend, one thing you'll learn about me is that I never exaggerate my refractory period." (A Fine and Private Place). Beautiful explorations of character. Whackiness. Angst, always satisfactorily resolved. I've given three samples below, but I pretty much adore everything she's written.
Other DS/C6D activity: Sadly, none. Resonant does write wonderfully in other large and small fandoms, including Harry Potter and Stargate: Atlantis. She writes great meta. Check out her memories for stuff like how to write a sex scene, and the entries on plot and different types of smut.
Sixteenth of June, F/K. Fraser watches Ray's seasons. I'm a big fan of kisses, especially first kisses. And this is a fascinating, breath-stopping first kiss.
I turned to Ray and found him looking at me. His eyelashes were very slightly darker than his hair. They moved, and I realized he had cast his eyes down just as they came back up.
"Um. I been thinking," he said.
A moment later I felt his mouth on mine.
His lips were warm and very slightly chapped and surprisingly soft. He didn't press the kiss, but he didn't release it, either, keeping his lips pressed gently to mine for long enough that there could be no mistaking his intentions. For long enough that my eyes, which had been open in shock, fell shut in pleasure.
When he stepped back, I could feel him watching me closely, and I opened my eyes, but found I could not speak. My lips were exquisitely sensitive now, and when I parted them, my next breath was rough, clearly audible in the echoing silence of the stairwell.
Ray's eyes went to the door and back to me. "Yeah, OK," he said, drawing his gun, "you think about it. I'll be right back."
Lip, Ray/Ray. Res has only written a couple of Ray/Ray stories and they're all short, but they are all good. This one's another first kiss.
Looks bad, seven stitches on a kid who's still got baby teeth. I don't know what he was imagining, or maybe remembering, but even over the smirk his eyes were cold, and I thought, It's not me he's looking at like that. That look is for whoever just busted little Stanley's bottom lip open.
And then there was a softer look that had to be for little Stanley himself, the one he could see in his head.
Except obviously I was wrong about that, because next thing he was kissing me.
The Teeth of the Hydra, F/K. For me, this story is the most compelling history of Ray Kowalski. I have read this repeatedly (and lost a day and a half rereading it again) and thought about it a great deal, and I accidentally started to write an essay instead of simply giving you a quote. However, you can read the version with the dvd commentary which is probably smarter. I read this version about 50% of the time because I am a total fangirl for both Resonant and Cesperanza, and their shiny brains.
Before Ray was partnered up with Fraser, he'd pretty much quit doing anything dramatic with his hair. Something about hanging out with the Mountie, though, made him want to make it wilder and wilder every time. Kim said he was a lot more fun than her other guy clients. Some of them would keep the same haircut for thirty years.
"Do something crazy. Whatever you want," he told her now, leaning back in the chair and closing her eyes. "I don't gotta be anywhere for two and a half hours, and I wanna be somebody else by then."
Give the Mountie credit for being open-minded: Ray showed up blonder than a Swede and he never batted an eye. "We have another tattoo victim. Near-victim, rather," he said. And then he reached out for a lock of Ray's hair, rubbed it between his thumb and his finger, and then leaned over and sniffed it, which was weird.
"Hey, Vecchio," Dewey called as they walked into the station. "Nice hair. Bet they love that down at Club Man."
"Yeah, well, if I see your mama there, I'll tell her to take off the fake mustache and go on home."
Huey laughed. Dewey glared at him. "That was pretty good," he explained.
Okay, don't just laugh at the joke, go back up and read the bit where Ray says he wants to be somebody else again. This story is, in part, about how Ray has always defined himself in reference to someone else. Think about that quote from Call of the Wild: "You ever feel like you don't know who you are? Like if you weren't around somebody, or that someone wasn't around you, then you wouldn't be you, or at least not the you that you think. You ever think like that?" 1 Ray's not just talking about Fraser, this has been his modus operandi his whole life.
Half the tenth-graders were tall as men now, with deep growly voices and big chests. Some of the ones who'd been shrimps last year liked to use their size to hassle the ones who hadn't grown yet. They didn't hassle Ray, though, because Ray knew the way to walk.
It was easy for a guy who'd sneaked in to see "Bullitt" five times in the third grade. You didn't walk like you were going to beat the other guy up. You walked like you'd already beaten him up, and it never crossed your mind that he wouldn't stand back and give you some room when you went by.
Ray's dad had taught him a few moves where a little guy could knock down a bigger one if he caught him off guard. But mostly he didn't need them. A guy who could walk like Bullitt didn't get in a lot of fights.
Stella liked it, too. If he put on a full-scale strut in the lunchroom, she'd look right past whatever Gold Coast guy she was sitting with and give him a long, hot smile.
Ray's making himself into someone else, all the time. His life is performance art. But he's not the only one.
Ray looked at him. "You liked it," he said. "Not having everybody looking at you for a change."
Fraser's lips parted for a moment. "Yes." The pencil still hung loosely from his fingers, but he seemed to have forgotten about it. "In reality," he said, "when people look at me, they don't see me at all, but the uniform."
Ray narrowed his eyes. "You make them," he said. Fraser looked up. "You got a face like a mask, Fraser."
"Point taken," Fraser said, very precisely, "Detective Vecchio."
"Not the same thing."
"I had to commit fraud and subterfuge to find out who you were." Strange emphasis on those last three words.
And that just pissed Ray off, because it wasn't like he was trying to keep Fraser at a distance. You didn't have to try. Distance was the guy's middle name. "I would have told you if you'd ever bothered to ask."
He didn't ask. He didn't push.
Ray, though -- Ray pushed.
He leaned over Fraser, hands on the back of the couch. "Tell me who you are," he said softly. "Please," he added.
Fraser swallowed, and for a minute it seemed like he wouldn't answer. And then he said softly, "Benton."
"Benton," Ray said. And then he kissed him.
Yeah. I really love this story.
1Transcript from trinityslash.