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Thw WIP Meme (ljcut for your pleasure!)
I like the WIP meme because I kind of need encouragement now and then, and as I cannot afford the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders, I was hoping y'all might help a brother out. Also? I went down to Blush Gentlemen's Club, but NOT ONLY WOULD THEY NOT READ EXCERPTS FROM MY FIC, THEY WOULDN'T LET ME ON THE TARDIS POLE. LOL I originally typed that "Gwentlemen's Club." Here's a roll of ones, Gwen. Have a good time.
The Torchwood bodyswapping fic, which is getting longer and longer and longer. Seven parts, 2/7 are finished, and three is all but done. The higher the number, the less I have written. But MY GOD IS IT FUN. Humor, FTW. And I'm trying to be respectful of the issues that bodyswapping bring up, so it's not all roses. Here's a rosy part:
The Hermione Big Bang fusion with 28 Days Later:. I have been working on this since 2003. It's been jossed by book six and seven. It's awesome. And now obviously a post-OotP AU. Like fifty billion pages.
The Highlander/Torchwood Crossover: Jesus. You didn't think I could get away without doing one of these, right? It's a five things, and it's all Jack-centric. Kind of like a Five Meetings thing. I was going to make Jack and Methos old friends, but that doesn't work for me (and it's been done), so I made them….not friends. This is their first meeting, in 2009.
A Sequel to One Thousand: I try not to do this, because One Thousand was so successful, and it's been around forever. I feel rather like I'm writing Highlander: The Quickening, or Ghost Busters 2. And people, you know how this is going to end, right?
So, four of them. Okay then.
The Torchwood bodyswapping fic, which is getting longer and longer and longer. Seven parts, 2/7 are finished, and three is all but done. The higher the number, the less I have written. But MY GOD IS IT FUN. Humor, FTW. And I'm trying to be respectful of the issues that bodyswapping bring up, so it's not all roses. Here's a rosy part:
Tosh turned towards the box, sitting on her desk, and pulled the tea cozy off. "I think I can manage to get some more information, but I might have to call Archie and hack into UNIT." She grinned. "That's always a good time."
Jack shook the box of space yo-yos, and a plume of sparks blossomed over its open lid. "And this? Are these part of your dastardly plan?" He looked at Ianto. "I warned you about these."
"They're shiny," Ianto said, snatching the box from under Jack's arm. "And they're harmless." He smiled wryly. "You just don't like them because you're rubbish at it."
Jack stared at the box before shrugging. "That's hard to deny."
Ianto shook the box, smiling when the shower of sparks turned magenta. "They're shiny, Jack. And you can see them in the dark. Just the kind of thing you might want when trying to track down a lumbering alien who is attracted to shiny things."
Jack smiled. "And if the aliens are inside a bunch of Yorkies?"
Ianto looked back down at the box and frowned. Gwen realised that he'd made a fatal error. He must have seen it too, because he shrugged. "The best game of fetch ever, then."
Tosh waved her equipment. "Or we could just use the scanner and trace the residual energy from the machine."
Ianto's mouth twitched. "Or we could do that." He shoved the box back at Jack but snagged a yo-yo and stuffed it into his pocket. "But I'm keeping this."
The Hermione Big Bang fusion with 28 Days Later:. I have been working on this since 2003. It's been jossed by book six and seven. It's awesome. And now obviously a post-OotP AU. Like fifty billion pages.
Fred snorts. "Hufflepuffs, the iron clad heart of Hogwarts."
Dumbledore offers him the plate of ham slices. "Exactly so and always, Mr. Weasley." He pushes up his spectacles before adding pepper to his cabbage. "The information contained in those photos so alarmed Miss Bones that she felt she had to come to me first. I hope you do forgive her lack of discretion," he says to Ginny, who shrugs. "But enough of this. We will see everything in one place soon enough. It is useless to speculate upon what will be done."
Talk turns to other things, as if nothing at all is amiss and Hogwarts isn't under siege. Except for the fact that they are all sitting at a table in the kitchen with their Headmaster, talking of dungbombs and Quidditch, flying cars and Hagrid's mutant pumpkins out in the patch, Hermione finds the situation not at all out of sorts. Then again, she can now recall instantly the best way to slip out of a skip without attracting the attention of a legion of bloodthirsty humans, so perhaps everything isn't as normal as it appears.
She thinks of the wards, and the way they are constructed. Before this event, she hadn't even known that Hogwarts had defensive wards that could be erected at a moment's notice. She had known that the castle and grounds have always been protected with an unplottable spell, along with the layered protections that disallow Apparating and the like. But the wards, whose plans she had seen last night for the first time in the library, had been constructed by the first few Headmasters, when it had become increasingly important that children be protected from occasions of warfare in the Wizarding community as a whole.
She had been sitting in the library next to Sinestra when McGonagall had put up the complex arithmancy equations, almost half of it in runes, the other half in theorems and formulas that had made her head spin. Just the first five equations, projected in the air, spanned an arc larger than the circumference of Gryffindor Tower. She had known then that she wasn't the only one awed, because her professor next to her had whistled low under her breath and said, "Cor, we are in for a long night."
And they had been. The formulas had to be deconstructed to determine anchoring points for energy and locks; translating the whole thing was essential to constructing a new ward in place of the old, one that was every bit as difficult and complex, but not identical. If they could use the old framework for the new wards, they could save themselves a great deal of pain. It was feasible, especially with as many people working on it as they had, but the faster they calculated, the sooner they would be prepared.
She hadn't slept until sunrise, when Remus had put a hand on her shoulder and told her to have a kip on one of the library sofas. She had risked the wrath of Madame Pince by putting her feet up on the cushions and then slept until ten. She had worked for another three hours, drinking cold tea and running errand girl between Remus's and McGonagall's teams before leaving to grab something quick to eat in the kitchens. And of course, now she is here.
The Highlander/Torchwood Crossover: Jesus. You didn't think I could get away without doing one of these, right? It's a five things, and it's all Jack-centric. Kind of like a Five Meetings thing. I was going to make Jack and Methos old friends, but that doesn't work for me (and it's been done), so I made them….not friends. This is their first meeting, in 2009.
"So, I take it that you have questions," Methos said suddenly. "I ask because your emails have become more cryptic, and no one ever asks me out, knowing who I am, unless they have something to ask about my age." He picked up his glass with two fingers and slid off the stool. The left side of his coat hit the barstool with a thunk. "Come on. We need a table." And then as Jack watched him walk away, he glanced back over his shoulder, and something in his eyes was terrifying and electric. Exciting. "Bring the bottle."
They settled in the corner, where they both had their backs to walls, and could see the room, and there was less chance of being overheard or hit on by the drunken ladies on hen night at the other end of the bar. Jack had already had to forlornly let them down twice; the first time, they'd thought he was the stripper they'd ordered.
"All right then," Methos said, finishing his glass and pouring them both more, even though Jack's was still half full, in the manner of an old custom: always pour for the rest of the rest of the table before filling your own. "What do you want to know?"
Jack thought about pulling out the list he'd written over the years, except that looked and sounded mindnumbingly idiotic. He had the list memorised anyway. And if he cut out all of the sex questions that he usually added when he was in a humorous mood (oh, he would admit it, he wants to fuck Methos, fuck him right into the wall right here, give those hen night girls a show), then he only had one. Well, one left, now that he had met up with the Doctor and found out how and why he was.
"How long have you really been…?" he wanted to say it smartly. He wanted to ask it like it deserved to be asked. He wanted to ask it in a clever way that would charm Methos, a clever way he hadn't heard before. There wasn't really a way for that, he suspected. Not anymore.
Methos shrugged. "Five thousand years. Give or take."
Jack leaned forward. This was the question here. This was the moment in which he would be disappointed, he could feel it. "How did you…." He paused. "How did you even process it?"
Methos sighed. "I took notes. I take notes." He held up an arm, the palm of his hand stained with marker. "See? 'Jack, seven-thirty p.m. The Rare Oyster'." He flipped his coaster over so that the pub's name showed. "Voila."
Jack closed his eyes and breathed in deep. One of Methos's hands closed on his over the table, and when he opened his eyes again, Methos's face was dark and sympathetic.
"We need a few more drinks before we get closer to the truth, Jack."
A Sequel to One Thousand: I try not to do this, because One Thousand was so successful, and it's been around forever. I feel rather like I'm writing Highlander: The Quickening, or Ghost Busters 2. And people, you know how this is going to end, right?
"You know I have to kill you, don't you?" Methos said into his beer casually, as if he were offering input on the weather or the beer selection. Those eyes didn't really look at him, but glanced elsewhere, so very observant, seeming so very laissez-faire. His long fingers dangled the beer glass in his hand.
Joe folded the rag into fourths. "Yeah, I thought so." He smiled, and felt his chapped lips crack a little. "You're a right bastard."
And then he pulled the trigger, firing through the counter, the wooden bar top. The shotgun was loaded with buckshot, and while it didn't do anything like make a huge hole in Methos, it did punch a crater in his chest enough to damage him drastically; he dropped to the floor of the bar. Bits of stained wood fell to the ground and on top of the body like confetti.
Joe lowered the gun and peered over the bar edge. Smoke rose from the chest cavity.
The figures came from the back of the bar, all in black, carrying cloth and rope and more than a few weapons. Joe's one stipulation to decency and innocence had been that they not do it here, and he'd meant it.
"Move quickly," Horton said as two younger men pointed their weapons at Methos, whose front looked like so much mincemeat. Even now, though, the blood flow had stopped and there was a distinct sound of bones reattaching.
"Triple-ought-buck," Joe mumbled. "He ain't gettin up for a while." He flipped the hatch open to reload, but his fingers fumbled on the shells and they tumbled to the floor, and he had to scramble to get them. Horton and his crew bundled Methos in rope and carpets before two the men whom Joe didn't recognize picked him up and unceremoniously dragged him out the back to the waiting van.
So, four of them. Okay then.
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And though I'm not familiar with Highlander, that's pretty delightful as well :)
YAY FIC!
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I am writing the bodyswap right nao. It is HARDCORE.
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I just FINALLY got through the money shots, now just have to think of some clever dialogue to finish with.
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Oh, and JSYK, if you need a beta, I can help out.
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TY! I have managed to line up a beta, but will hold you to that if I need backup! :D
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Okay, I'm a leeetle surprised that he's actually talking to -- and trusting -- Horton.
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Ohhhhhh this is Methos exactly, yes.
I ashamedly admit that I read One Thousand so long ago I don't remember it, so now I'm going to hunt it down. But that sequel snippet makes me hurt. Somehow Joe vs. Methos hurts me more than Duncan vs. Methos.
Then, I could watch an entire show where Joe and Methos snark about the sunday paper to each other over the bar. 22 episodes of that.
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Oh god, read One Thousand on...hlfiction archive. I think its edited there. But you don't really have to read it. Really. It kinda blows in a lot of ways.
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I want scenes of Methos bs-ing Joe, I want Joe BS-ing him right back, getting the old man's goat. That would rock.
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Have you seen the Amazon reviews of the animal tee-shirts? Or there was a gallon of milk on there awhile back.
Methos totally writes those, too.
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I think I love amazon, sometimes. Not all the time, but sometimes.
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