thedeadparrot (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thedeadparrot) wrote2007-08-05 12:57 pm
thedeadparrot) wrote2007-08-05 12:57 pm
Fannish kerfluffling and that WIP meme
So, I've been kind of following the latest fandom meltdown, and I can understand why people are upset. I was mostly willing to be understanding about Strikethrough, as far as that went, but this was kind of going over the line. Still, I'm not comfortable with completely migrating until we have a suitable alternative, since all we have right now are stop-gap measures.
So, yeah, those are my two cents.
Anyway, on a less depressing note, that WIP meme because I just passed 10,000 words on the SGA AU (omg). Not everything I've been working on, but some of the main stuff:
John Sheppard, High School Football Coach
He meets Rodney for the first time in the faculty lounge, on a rumor that it has the best coffee in the entire building (though that wasn't saying much). John notices the shoulders, first, broad and hunched over a cheap wooden table. Next, he notices the way the guy is muttering under his breath, a red pen tucked between his fingers. He's a teacher, John figures. Can't really be anything else.
"Hey," John says, meaning to introduce himself, but that seems to startle the guy, causing the table to rock on uneven legs, a pencil spilling to the floor.
"Do you mind?" the guy says, taking in the blue windbreaker. "Some of us have actual work to do. Work that does not involve yelling at overdeveloped jocks and fueling the testosterone crazed delusions that a stupid game actually means anything."
"I was going to introduce myself," John replies, drawing out his words, "but I see that's not really necessary."
The guy rolls his eyes (and John notices how blue they are, clear and sharp) and sticks out his hand with an edge of reluctance, a put-upon sigh. "Rodney McKay, physics. I'm mostly filling in for my sister while she's out on maternity leave, and believe me, when I can get my ass out of football-worshiping Podunk, USA, I will."
The AU where Wilson's a hooker and like 5-10 years younger than he is on the show
When he opened the door, the first thing out of his mouth was, "Did I forget to specify that I wasn't a pedophile again?" And the first reaction of the kid standing across from him was an amused smile, a raised eyebrow, and the words, "I'm twenty-one."
Of course, he didn't look it. House would have placed him at about fifteen, seventeen at the most generous, but the agency would be pretty thorough vetting these things, and House was willing to believe him for now at least. The kid was about medium hight, with huge brown eyes under huge brown eyebrows and the most absurdly boyish features known to man. He was pretty enough, at least, and as long as House was sure he wasn't breaking any statutory rape laws, he could to deal.
A bit of Mathletes weatherfic
House was mostly hoping that it was just one of those exaggerations, but Canada really is that cold in the winter. Today, he's wearing three layers of clothes under his giant overcoat, along with a hat, gloves, and a scarf, and he can still feel it all the way to his bones. It hasn't snowed yet, but it's obviously winter outside, the ground frozen and hard beneath their feet.
McKay's talking about the size of the universe, the curve of space time or something like that. House isn't really paying any attention to what McKay is saying; he's watching the way the wind burns Rodney's pale cheeks pink, the way small vapor clouds gust from his lips in a near-endless stream. His gloves are a plain black, and it's interesting to watch the way they move through the air in the familiar patterns, the motions pure Rodney, though they seem muffled through the wool.
So, yeah, those are my two cents.
Anyway, on a less depressing note, that WIP meme because I just passed 10,000 words on the SGA AU (omg). Not everything I've been working on, but some of the main stuff:
John Sheppard, High School Football Coach
He meets Rodney for the first time in the faculty lounge, on a rumor that it has the best coffee in the entire building (though that wasn't saying much). John notices the shoulders, first, broad and hunched over a cheap wooden table. Next, he notices the way the guy is muttering under his breath, a red pen tucked between his fingers. He's a teacher, John figures. Can't really be anything else.
"Hey," John says, meaning to introduce himself, but that seems to startle the guy, causing the table to rock on uneven legs, a pencil spilling to the floor.
"Do you mind?" the guy says, taking in the blue windbreaker. "Some of us have actual work to do. Work that does not involve yelling at overdeveloped jocks and fueling the testosterone crazed delusions that a stupid game actually means anything."
"I was going to introduce myself," John replies, drawing out his words, "but I see that's not really necessary."
The guy rolls his eyes (and John notices how blue they are, clear and sharp) and sticks out his hand with an edge of reluctance, a put-upon sigh. "Rodney McKay, physics. I'm mostly filling in for my sister while she's out on maternity leave, and believe me, when I can get my ass out of football-worshiping Podunk, USA, I will."
The AU where Wilson's a hooker and like 5-10 years younger than he is on the show
When he opened the door, the first thing out of his mouth was, "Did I forget to specify that I wasn't a pedophile again?" And the first reaction of the kid standing across from him was an amused smile, a raised eyebrow, and the words, "I'm twenty-one."
Of course, he didn't look it. House would have placed him at about fifteen, seventeen at the most generous, but the agency would be pretty thorough vetting these things, and House was willing to believe him for now at least. The kid was about medium hight, with huge brown eyes under huge brown eyebrows and the most absurdly boyish features known to man. He was pretty enough, at least, and as long as House was sure he wasn't breaking any statutory rape laws, he could to deal.
A bit of Mathletes weatherfic
House was mostly hoping that it was just one of those exaggerations, but Canada really is that cold in the winter. Today, he's wearing three layers of clothes under his giant overcoat, along with a hat, gloves, and a scarf, and he can still feel it all the way to his bones. It hasn't snowed yet, but it's obviously winter outside, the ground frozen and hard beneath their feet.
McKay's talking about the size of the universe, the curve of space time or something like that. House isn't really paying any attention to what McKay is saying; he's watching the way the wind burns Rodney's pale cheeks pink, the way small vapor clouds gust from his lips in a near-endless stream. His gloves are a plain black, and it's interesting to watch the way they move through the air in the familiar patterns, the motions pure Rodney, though they seem muffled through the wool.