magibrain: This alt text intentionally left blank. (This icon intentionally left blank.)
Back in 2007, for reasons which I'm sure made sense at the time, I got the idea to write a fic with Jack Harkness of Torchwood and Sam Tyler of Life on Mars in a bar together, and then furthermore to email it to [personal profile] rionaleonhart without explanation to see what she would do. As it turned out, because Riona is Riona (and because the fic was probably her fault in one way or another to begin with), she calmly beta'd it and sent it back.

That, I think, may have been throwing down the gauntlet.

Because there's something you have to understand about me, and that's that 70%* of my fiction writing is spite-based. A friend believes that I can't write slash? Here is the Doctor having sex with the Master. And also the TARDIS. Riona says a Silent Hill 2/House MD crossover where Chase is James Sunderland is the most frightening idea ever and she should not write it? I write it. Stargate SG-1 decides to be completely simplistic with issues of character death, the nature of identity, and memory? Here is 140,000 words deconstructing that by implication. And then there was the Silent Hill crossover meme, which was basically a (lighthearted, mutually-respectful, and mutually-gleeful) pissing contest with [livejournal.com profile] jantalaimon over who could write the most, or weirdest, crossover drabblets with Silent Hill. (Among my proudest accomplishments: Winnie the Pooh, The Sims, and Tetris.)

*Completely arbitrary estimate

So I think there's a certain amount of archaeological evidence** to suggest that I started Damaged People purely to see what it would take to get Riona to go "What on earth are you doing, you crazy person?"

**Not in any way archaeological

Which is how I ended up writing what I call "A massively multifandom accidental epic following Sam Tyler (Life On Mars) and Jack Harkness (Doctor Who and Torchwood) on their misadventures, as they explore the galaxy, almost destroy some worlds, and barely save others."

How multifandom, and how epic?

Well, as of the time of this posting, I've written most of the first of a planned three arcs (1: Jack and Sam cavorting around the galaxy; 2: Series 1 of Torchwood, rewritten, expanded, and made more weird; 3: Sam Tyler saves the galaxy), and it's up to 100k words. And the thing's spawned a sequel. It's also up to 22 fandoms the last time I counted, and I keep shoving more in whenever I find a spare corner. (Lie To Me is on the waiting list, for example, and will be added as soon as a compatible plot comes up. Sherlock is in much the same position.) Among the fandoms I've managed to wedge in: Stargate: SG-1, Global Frequency, Pirates of the Caribbean, Google's April Fools jokes, Withnail and I, Avatar: The Last Airbender, Top Gear, and Cube 2: Hypercube.

The story is told mostly from Sam's perspective, with occasional dips into Jack's, so it's unintentionally organized so that if you're familiar with both series of Life on Mars and series one of Torchwood, you're generally only ever as confused as Sam is. Which, you know, can often be Rather Confused.

Anyway! I'm beginning the process of mirroring everything from its original home at [livejournal.com profile] damageverse to its parallel home at [community profile] damaged_people. If you're interested in my one grand voluntary foray into slash and multifandom crossovers, I invite you to take a look. It's wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey, occasionally extremely sketchy, ranges from pure gen to explicit with warnings and back again, and it will probably never be finished, but new stuff should keep appearing from time to time.
magibrain: "Did they have morality majors at your school?" "No." (Don't ask me; I was not a morality major)
You know what? Why not.

Describe briefly (fics > 0) you think I will never, ever, ever write. In return, I will attempt to write a snippet of (at least) one of them. ("A snippet" could be one pithy sentence, or it could be 3,000 words. Or anything. You never know.)

I apply the following conditions:

* I will not write explicit sex.
* I will not write about things I don't know enough about to write about, and whose research would take a prohibitively long time.

Anything else goes.
magibrain: A radiation symbol. It appears to be a little bit on fire. (Default)
Title: The DI Dances
Dedication: [livejournal.com profile] rionaleonhart is to feel better immediately, if not sooner.
Rating: T.
Genre: Angst, slash.
Beta: [livejournal.com profile] rionaleonhart did a quick sweep for errors'n'such, though it's possible I've edited more in.
Prerequisites: Enough of Life On Mars to know the characters, the episodes The Empty Child, The Doctor Dances, Parting Of The Ways and optionally Father's Day from Doctor Who.
Continuity: I'm jiggering things a bit, yeah. Some Indistinct Time (probably late- or post-Series 2) for Life On Mars, Some Indistinct Time between Parting Of The Ways and Utopia for Doctor Who.
Summary: Jack never tended to think of himself as a crusader, but he could get used to the role.
Disclaimer: The BBC always owns all the pretty toys! The opinions expressed herein are the properties of the characters and not of John Simm, as far as I know. Um, I'm aware that it says "slash" up there but it's pretty standard magi-written romance: a lot of talking, a lot of introspection, and the payoff at the end is physical contact. And "physical contact" isn't even a euphemism. Questions, comments and congas can be left in replies or directed to magistrata(at)gmail(dot)com. Thank you for reading!

Sam Tyler and Jack Harkness walk into a bar.... )
magibrain: A radiation symbol. It appears to be a little bit on fire. (Default)
Down on the wasteland, barely distinguished from the dry soil around it, there was a dusty-gold body. Timon only noticed when the buzzards descended; they'd been circling for hours now, and the moment the first one dropped down his attention was caught.

"Ey, Pumbaa," he said, tugging on his ride-slash-mount's ears. The warthog pulled his head up, pausing mid-prance. "Over there. Looks like some poor guy didn't make it."

Pumbaa snorted. "Look at 'em, the bullies," he said, nodding toward the carrion birds. "Can't kick a rock without seeing one these days."

"Talk about your bad neighbourhoods," Timon said. "Hey! You know what this calls for...."

"Heh hehh," Pumbaa agreed. Timon leaned down, giving him a good Giddy-up! slap between his eyes.

"Let's get 'em."

-

It would be a mistake to say that the buzzards didn't know what hit them. They were smart birds, if unimaginative; after the third or forth time even they'd put two and two together. Timon and Pumbaa weren't making many friends, but the buzzards had better things to do than pursue the enmity. The flapped away, leaving Team Meerkat-And-Warthog victorious once again.

"I love it!" Pumbaa chortled. "Bowling for buzzards!"

"Gets 'em every time," Timon said, dusting himself off. "Now, let's see what we chased 'em off, maybe give the guy a proper--" He trailed off. "Burial," he finished, staring in confusion at the empty wasteland. "...huh."

He'd never known buzzards to attack empty ground. Maybe they'd been out in the sun too long?

-

It was the contrast that caused Simba to wake.

He'd been thirsty and hot and struggling to breathe the hot air; he was still thirsty but he was colder than he'd ever been, and he was struggling to breathe because the air was full of something that looked like smoke and wasn't smoke.

It was dark, but it wasn't dark like night. It was dark like thunderstorms but the sky was quiet; everything was quiet except for the creaking of dying bushes and the groans of settling skeletons and the scrabbling of rats in the boneyard.

Why was he in the boneyard?--hadn't he made it out?

"Nala!" he called, and that struck him as wrong; he remembered getting out, because Mufasa had come to rescue them. "Dad!" he yelled, and that was wrong too--and as soon as he called, he knew why.

From far away, like an echo or imagined thing, came his father's dying roar. Simba cringed, small and afraid among the dry bones. He was lost here, alone, and the clouds were getting darker. Back the way he must have come, back toward the bluffs that ringed the Pride Lands, all he could see were thick brambles with thorns like reaching claws.

When the roar subsided something else replaced it, something angry and hungry and mercifully far away. "Dad," Simba said again, to the bones, to the fog, to nothing. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."


BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT YOU DO TO CHARACTERS YOU LIKE. YOU SEND THEM TO SILENT HILL.
magibrain: A radiation symbol. It appears to be a little bit on fire. (Default)
Title: And From Thy State
Dedication: For [livejournal.com profile] rionaleonhart. Happy birthday, Riona! Have some insanity and angst :).
Rating: T.
Genre: Character-study.
Beta: Betas have no role in the Master's monomaniacal obsessions!
Continuity: Pretty canon, yeah. Introspection, some manufactured scenes, a lot of interpretation of given scenes.
Prerequisites: Utopia, The Sound of Drums, The Last Of The Time Lords.
Summary: Sometimes the Master wants the Doctor to die. Sometimes he wants him to live. The problem is, most of the time it's both.
Disclaimer: BBC OWNS ALL. Except what it doesn't. The opinions expressed herein are the properties of the characters and not of John Milton. Objects in obsession are closer than they appear. Master may or may not cause Doctor to drown in bucket. Questions, comments and uncertainties can be left in replies or directed to magistrata(at)gmail(dot)com. Thank you for reading!

MasterFic. Sixteen ways of looking at the Doctor. )
magibrain: A radiation symbol. It appears to be a little bit on fire. (Default)
Title: And What Art
Rating: M.
Genre: Darkfic, psychefuck.
Beta: HAHAHA No.
Continuity: Post-The Last Of The Time Lords for Doctor Who, and weirdly AU for Life On Mars.
Prerequisites: Know about Sam Tyler, know about the events of Utopia, The Sound Of Drums and The Last Of The Time Lords.
Summary: It's got to the point where Sam no longer knows whether he's losing or finding himself.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who and Life On Mars belong to the BBC. The opinions expressed herein are the properties of the characters and only occasionally of William Blake. Fic contains small parts not suitable for children and unpleasant parts not suitable for anyone. Do not look directly into face of watch. Questions, comments and tissue-compression eliminators can be left in replies or directed to magistrata(at)gmail(dot)com. Thank you for reading!

The drums, the drums, the neverending drums!--open me, you human fool; open the light and receive my majesty... )

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