Teasy post of teasiness.
This has been An Exciting Week. I've had two fics recc'd on torchwood_house. I am particularly happy that the two fics recc'd contrast mightily with each other-- one is delirious and cracky, (The Applesauce Incident) whereas the other is measured and emotional (Waltzing the Bruise). The reccs have caused an influx of wonderful comments on those fics and some new people friending me. HELLO! ::waves::
Note to new readers-- I am rilly rilly bad at tagging, so you'll have to surf back-entries or check out my memories to get my other fic. There's a lot of WiPs and drabblish things on my journal that haven't been posted to torch_wood. I am infamous for not finishing longer stories and other WiPs, so proceed at your own risk. :/ If the fic still has a "working title," be particularly wary. On the other hand (and I know I'm screwing myself by saying this, because I have so many other things on my plate) commenting on those WiPs reminds me that they exist and sometimes causes me to update them. Don't get your hopes up, though.
Anyway, all the attention, and the great timing of it happening when I had a couple days off work, has spurred me to write more fic, faster (hence my multiple posts yesterday, and my slowness in responding to comments).
My goal: Have a fic on the torchwood_three newsletter for seven days straight.
Day One: The Applesauce Incident
Day Two: The Cat in the Plass, and the Robot Below
Whistle-Crack is all set to show up for Day Three (Thursday), and I intended to have a fic to post tonight after work. Problem: the current fic has overgrown its bounds, and I need sleep before I can finish it. Luckily, I think if I post by Friday afternoon, it'll make the cut.
I'm going to tell you what the fic is before I post it, because I am mean and like to tease people.
::drumroll::
desert island/blanket combo fic, with Jack/Ianto/Tosh. Except the desert island is an entire planet, and the blanket is Jack's coat.
First 112 words:
The planet smells like chicken. Not delicious chicken; no rosemary or lemon herb, no tender chargrilled strips or lightly breaded legs. The planet smells raw, like the juice that puddles pinkly in the corners of the styrofoam or oozes from the creases of Saran wrap.
"I wish I had a nuclear scanner, or the ultra-sound standby. We don't even have our bluetooths," Tosh is saying. "I wish I had on trousers. No, I want shoes." Her shirt is long enough to preserve her modesty, but Tosh didn't live through the 1960s like Jack did. She has different ideas of acceptable skirt-length.
"Dream big," says Jack. "Go ahead and wish you had both."
Current word count: 1,719. I'm going to try to get some sleep so I can more than double that tomorrow. ^^
Note to new readers-- I am rilly rilly bad at tagging, so you'll have to surf back-entries or check out my memories to get my other fic. There's a lot of WiPs and drabblish things on my journal that haven't been posted to torch_wood. I am infamous for not finishing longer stories and other WiPs, so proceed at your own risk. :/ If the fic still has a "working title," be particularly wary. On the other hand (and I know I'm screwing myself by saying this, because I have so many other things on my plate) commenting on those WiPs reminds me that they exist and sometimes causes me to update them. Don't get your hopes up, though.
Anyway, all the attention, and the great timing of it happening when I had a couple days off work, has spurred me to write more fic, faster (hence my multiple posts yesterday, and my slowness in responding to comments).
My goal: Have a fic on the torchwood_three newsletter for seven days straight.
Day One: The Applesauce Incident
Day Two: The Cat in the Plass, and the Robot Below
Whistle-Crack is all set to show up for Day Three (Thursday), and I intended to have a fic to post tonight after work. Problem: the current fic has overgrown its bounds, and I need sleep before I can finish it. Luckily, I think if I post by Friday afternoon, it'll make the cut.
I'm going to tell you what the fic is before I post it, because I am mean and like to tease people.
::drumroll::
desert island/blanket combo fic, with Jack/Ianto/Tosh. Except the desert island is an entire planet, and the blanket is Jack's coat.
First 112 words:
The planet smells like chicken. Not delicious chicken; no rosemary or lemon herb, no tender chargrilled strips or lightly breaded legs. The planet smells raw, like the juice that puddles pinkly in the corners of the styrofoam or oozes from the creases of Saran wrap.
"I wish I had a nuclear scanner, or the ultra-sound standby. We don't even have our bluetooths," Tosh is saying. "I wish I had on trousers. No, I want shoes." Her shirt is long enough to preserve her modesty, but Tosh didn't live through the 1960s like Jack did. She has different ideas of acceptable skirt-length.
"Dream big," says Jack. "Go ahead and wish you had both."
Current word count: 1,719. I'm going to try to get some sleep so I can more than double that tomorrow. ^^