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jamjar: (Reader)
For those keeping track, Terry Pratchett .mp3s are here, with the Amazing Maurice and his Educated Rodents here, QI series 1 .mp3s are here and Series 2 (still working on it) is over here.

Any problems, let me know.
jamjar: (library)
Just me trying to get all my fic up livejournal, including this example from my first ever Yuletide, back when I still went under the name magpie.
Title:Cumulative effort
Fandom: Good Omens
Written for: Vensre in the Yuletide 2003 Challenge
Previously posted at http://www.yuletidetreasure.org/archive/0/cumulativeeffort.html
All feedback appreciated.
Read more... )
jamjar: (christmas!)
The Death of Rats pushed the parcel forward, tentatively. "Thank you," Susan said, making no move to touch it.

It squeaked at her and gestured with its scythe.


Susan had a very serviceable voice, a pleasant if unspectacular alto, and excellent rhythm. She could keep time and always, always knew the words, and had a good ear for wrong notes. Furthermore, she had a great deal of experience controlling small children.

This all explained why she loathed being called upon to take part in the annual Hogswatch carol service at the university. As big as the University choir was -and it encompassed several generations of wizards- the choir lacked any natural choirmaster, and had very few sopranos, with the exception of some of the younger students and the Bursar's rather good falsetto. Susan was called upon to fill in the gaps.

"And in the winter, comes the sno-ow..." she sang, bracing herself for the answering bass.

"Ook oook, ook oook."

"So all the children wrap up wa-arm,"

"Ook ook ook ook oook." The Librarian's voice rang out over the other wizards. Although the carol, "Little Children In The Snow (See how Blue Their Fingers Go!)" did not have a solo part, the Librarian clearly felt otherwise and had made his opinion very well known.

"No. It's bad enough that you get the words wrong," she told the Librarian. "And yes, I can tell, especially when it doesn't even scan. The rhythm is all wrong."

"Oook!"

Susan folded her arms and glared at him. "I don't care if apes have natural rhythm. Look this just isn't working. Maybe if we--"

"SQUEAK."

Susan turned around to where the Death of Rats stood, holding a score hopefully. She frowned. The Death of Rats shuffled its feet in a disturbingly bashful way. Susan crossed her arms sceptically. "All right, let's hear it."

It coughed into its bony paw once, unrolled the song and began. "SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEA-EAK..."

Susan gave a reluctant sigh and waved it into the choir stands. The Death of Rats had a surprisingly good soprano.
jamjar: (buddha)
"Are you looking for Johnny?" Wobbler said without looking up from his playstation portable when the elf sat next to him on the park bench.

The elf- yep, definitely an elf, pointy ears and a bow and an air of ethereal... etherealness, looked at him.

"I do not know this "Johnny" of which you speak," It said. "I am merely searching for my pathway home." The elf looked at Wobbler, body motionless while his thumbs moved frantically over the buttons. Although it gave off an air of unruffled and supernatural calm, an above-it-all air that was hard to take offense at, since it so clearly was above it all, it was, deep down, rather off-put.

Normally, its air of glamour and otherworldly charms (and it used these words in their oldest meanings) had a certain effect on those mere mortals around it. Currently, those charms were washing against the great solidity that was Wobbler. Its frowned deepened, creating an air of tragic and fantastical beauty that would overwhelm the senses of any that saw it, if their senses hadn't been brought so abruptly down to earth by the sight of Wobbler.

The presence of Wobbler next to the elf was having an effect similar to playing Abba in a Transylvanian tomb, quite disrupting any supernatural effect.

"You probably do want Johnny," Wobbler said, his mouth barely moving as he concentrated on the small, crashing object on the centre of his screen. "All you things do."

The elf looked at him, affronted. Its expression of disapproval, which would have had kings and queens on their knees, begging for forgiveness, bounced off of Wobbler without leaving so much as a ripple to show its passing.

Wobbler shifted in his seat slightly. "I'll take you to meet him when I'm done," he said. "I'm almost at the bit with the cops and the thing."

"You will take me to him now!" It commanded.

"Inna minute! I'm almost done," Wobbler said. "I just gotta--"

Stunned at the lack of reaction, the elf sat down on the bench next to him. After a while, it started to feed the pigeons.

There was a tinny but rather final sounding crash from the game and Wobbler sighed and got up. "C'mon. He's probably at his grandad's."

The elf stood up to go.

"Have you got money for the bus? 'Cause I've got my card, but..."

end.
jamjar: (Cake or Death!)
Johnny sighed and moved his bishop. "Check," he said.

His opponent moved a pawn. "MATE."

Johnny nodded and started to clear up his pieces. "Guess you win again. I've got--"

"BEST OUT OF NINETEEN? I THINK YOU ALMOST HAD ME THAT LAST TIME."

It helped if he just thought about him as a--

Actually, it helped if he didn't think about him, except maybe as another Alderman or a Mrs Tachyon, just cleaner and more solid and thinner. He wasn't like that at all, because those people were definitely people, definitely human, and this one wasn't, but...

His Grandad had taught him to play a few months back when he was off sick with the 'flu and it's not that Johnny didn't like chess, because it was pretty good for a game without any special effects, but he didn't know other people liked it as well, until he showed up with a board and a worryingly hopeful expression.

"NO-ONE EVER WANTS TO PLAY WITH ME," he'd said. "AND I ALWAYS ASK." And he'd looked so hopeful…


Almost like he did right now, in fact. "Okay," Johnny said, sitting down. "But this is the last time, really. I've got school tomorrow."

"FINE. YOU CAN BE WHITE THIS TIME."

end.
jamjar: (Oh!)
[livejournal.com profile] girl_starfish has made me a happy bunny by writing some GO/DCU fic.

Agonie Aunte can be found over here.

When precognatives and time-travellers collide!
jamjar: (Default)
They're both approximately the same height and colouring, one gave the impression of being darker, while the other has a steadfast aura of tweed. Being able to give the appearance of wearing a tweed suit while wearing spandex is rarely listed as a meta-ability, but Wally is starting to feel that it should be.

'Who are you? How did you...?' )
jamjar: (Default)
Firstly, a little something I like to call the PreYJ OT3 Gen fic. Oh yes, it has a proper title, but I like all the little words and letters.

Young Justice (DCU):

The Case Of the Disappearing Felines.
Bart, Kon and Tim, when they were young, and Tim hadn't revealed his real name and Superboy didn't *have one*.

Next, in response to the amnesty challenge at [livejournal.com profile] dc_flashfiction

Batman Beyond:
Beyond the Veil.
Bruce and Terry. Note: This at one point had the working title "big scary batgod fic."

And in case anyone missed it (and you weren't missing much),over at [livejournal.com profile] weneedhelp,

DCU/Good Omens crossover madness!

Why yes, I am very suggestible. How did you know?"
jamjar: (five buck dick)
"My mum wants to know if your lot want something to drink," Yo-less said. "Tea or juice. Or coffee," he added, giving Kon a look he'd come to recognise as "you're *American*. They have guns and 42 flavours of icecream and wear lycra bodysuits in public."

"There's biscuits. Ginger nuts. And mum wants to know if you're staying for tea," he added.

"…okay."

"'Cause if you are, mum says she'll have to go down to the shops, and that'll have to wait until the high street's clear again." Yo-less gestured at the large red, yellow and green dragon that was occupying most of the high street, and the young girls, dressed in costume or Top Shop's finest, that were tied to the streetlights in front of Woolworths. "But it probably won't take that much longer."

"I--" Superboy started to say. "Shouldn't you be freaking out more? I mean, I get that you have this whole Giles thing going for you with the Englishness and the tweed and--"

"I'm not wearing tweed! Why does everyone always think I'm wearing tweed?"

"--but there are dragons, like real *dragons* and Robin and I should be *helping*..."

Yo-less shrugged. "Well, this sort of the things always happening around Johnny. It's best just to leave him to, and be ready to lend a hand if he starts seeing invisible bugs that are really there. Don't you get cold?"

"Huh?"

"You know, going out like that." Yo-less made a vague gesture at Superboy's costume. "I'd get cold."

"I'm used to it. And it's not real spandex."

"Oh." Yo-less looked around, searching for a safe topic of conversation.

What Yo-less had meant, of course, was not "Don't you get cold," but "Don't you get embarassed, walking around like that in public, though at least you've got your underwear on the inside, if you're wearing any, because I can't see any lines."

What Superboy meant in his reply was, "No, I don't get cold."

"You think it's going to take much--" And then they were both looking, because Johnny was gesturing wildly and trying to explain something to the dragon, or possibly the girls, and then the dragon was-- it was Robin and it was the dragon and it was both at the same time while being physically separate and Johnny kissed him and then--

Then there was a row of shops, and Cassie helping some civilians out of their ropes and Johnny and Robin walking towards them.

"What just happened?" Kon said, not quite grabbing Robin and running, but close.

"It was the stories. Like a, a--"

"A cultural mythology," Robin said. "Paired with a possible dimensional intrusion."

"So it wasn't real? Just like a hologram or mirage or something."

"No," said Johnny. "They are real. They're *really* real, or else they couldn’t be imaginary here. Or the other way around."

"But they're gone now?" Yo-less said. He looked around a little nervously. The dragons hadn't been too bad, but the Prince Charmings had been quite frankly, terrifying to a young boy in the formative stages of his development. "And everyone's back to normal."

Johnny nodded. "The extra stuff's all gone back to where it wasn't before."

"Where it wasn't…?"

Johnny shrugged. "It helps if you don't think about it."

End.
jamjar: (five buck dick)
I *will* write a proper crossover drabble, but this came out of my head anyway.

Bart doesn't name names, but you can fill in the blanks.

DCU/Johnny Maxwell crossover, in my head at least.


"Bart," Tim said. "How's the exchange trip going?"

"Really great! But England is really, really strange. I think that's why it doesn't have so many heroes, is just because no-one *notices* this stuff, 'cause it's happeningallthetime."

"Yeah?" And the key to successful communication with Bart, Tim had long since decided, was to make sure you had a recording somewhere so you could play it back slowly later. "Have you met anyone interesting?" He said, switching the recording function on, lowering the volume slightly and bringing up weather patterns for the Gotham/Bludhaven area.

"Yeah,but they'reallykinda *strange*, y'know?"

"Yeah?" Hmm, looked like the pressure was going to drop at around two.

"And there's this boy, he's got like--"

Was worth substituting two regular Batarangs for electro-shock ones, given the 58% chance of rain?

"--andtheuniversejustpoursthroughorsomethingand--"

"Uh-huh." Of course, it could be a good time to test the new prototype ribbon shockers. Bruce had wanted to wait until Fall, and more consistently damp weather, but now might be as good a time as any.

"--elves,likerealones,andallthese--"

"Really?" He could check with Oracle, see if there was anything important happening tonight.

"--justsuddenlygotpointyearsandstartedcallingthemselvesTracielandHenribornolasandArwayne--"

"Weird." If there was nothing significant in the works, he could pass by the cave before patrolling and pick up the new prototype shockers.

"--TitaniajusthasissuesorsomethingsoifBatmanstartsscreamingaboutfairyringsandgrowing, like,prettylittlebutterflywings,that'swhathappenedand its *totally* not my fault."

"Oka-- wait?"

"ButI'mgonnabehidingouthereforalittlelongeranyway,justincase.SeeyouwhenIgetback,'kay?"

Communicators don't have a ring tone, and when Bart hung up there was nothing but silence.

Tim stared at the screen.

Testing the prototypes could wait until Fall.

End.
jamjar: (Default)
"Well, sometimes two demons, ones that have spent a bit too much together, sometimes they get certain- urges. It's not something we really talk about.  As long as they do it in private, where no-one can see and clean up all the pieces after, it's their own business."  Crowley took a large gulp of quite ridiculously strong gin that he had summoned without thinking, in a desperate attempt by his subconscious to preserve his mind. "Of course, they never do," he added. "Blessed exhibitionists, lurking in corners where any unsuspecting demon and trip over them." He shuddered at the memory.  "Some things are just wrong."

"Yeah, but you're a demon, you're meant to be wrong," Adam said.  "S'right for a demon, being wrong. I 'spect you can't help it."

Which sounded like he'd been talking to Aziraphale.  Crowley shot him a suspicious look.  "Yes," he said eventually, "but the way they do it, it's really, really wrong."

"Wronger than that?" Adam pointed at the TV screen where rather busty virgin was being tied to a suspiciously tentacle-ish tree.

"Yes," Crowley said very firmly. A memory flashed through his mind.  "Definitely."

"Huh," Adam said, looking thoughtful.

There was a moment of silence while they both looked at the screen.  "Do I need to talk about safe sex?" Crowley said while the actors on screen did obscene things with bad special effects.  "Because you know, the safest sex is possessio--"

"So what about you and him" Adam interrupted. His head was tilted on one side and his expression made him look a little like his father (the other one) and a lot like his ultimate creator. And there were a lot of ways Crowley could have answered, starting with "Him, who?", but something about that expression made him rethink it.

"That's... That's different," he said. 

Which was no answer at all, but was the truth.



end.
jamjar: (Default)
"You mean, Miss Susan?" Angua said in surprise. "White hair with a black streak. Pale, thin, dresses in black. I see her in Biers sometimes. She's a teacher, I think. She drinks like one, anyway."

Vimes raised an eyebrow. "She goes to biers? You don't know why, do you?"

"For the alcohol, I assume." Angua sighed. "But you mean what. I don't know, exactly. Just that she terrifies the bogeymen."

~~~
"Your grace," Lord Rust said, bowing slightly.

"Miss Susan," she corrected him. "In this room, I am Miss Susan. Or Miss Sto Helit, if you'd prefer."

"Ah," Lord Rust said, temporarily thrown off track.

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