So I've run out of fic to read. Instead of flailing about in distress (saving that for later), I'm re-reading the fic I've saved and quoting my favourite bits, some funny, some introspective, some so very McClane that it makes me go EEEEEEE
a lot. \o/(McClane)'s made… well, not a living so much as a habit, of winning by being the most stubborn, willful motherfucker out there and allowing nothing to stand between him and his end goal.
This series is one of my favs, cos, you know, McClane's pretty damn useless when nothing's under threat of being blown up, and this fic's got that awkward-slash-asshole balance right there.The thing about these fucking cell phones is that they keep getting smaller and it's hard to properly take out your pissedness on a device you have to dial with the tips of your fingernails.
Sequel to Connectivity.Matt prides himself on being a pretty quick thinker under pressure, at least when guns aren't involved, but he sits there, totally tharn on John's couch while the door opens and Lucy - holy Christ, Lucy - breezes in, balancing some gift-wrapped boxes in one arm.
Massive glee for the use of "tharn
", random literary references
ftw. Also, this is the sequel to Rewriting the Disk.
[Context: Post-boinking with John, Lucy has just called Matt's cellphone.] Matt scrapes himself up to sitting position and tries to ignore his illogical impulse to cover his crotch with the blanket. Then he does it anyway.
[Matt to John:] "God, do you - I've been so turned on all week, you have no idea, just - you're not even a democrat."
One of the few fics to more than hand-wave the nationwide fall-out of the film's events, and there's snarky banter. One of the first fics of this pairing I've read, and still one of my favs.As (Matt) talks, his gaze keeps drifting to where John shot himself and Gabriel. When the kid flat out stares at the spot for what's got to be the fifth or sixth time, John rolls his eyes and waves his hand over his shoulder. "My eyes are up here. Jesus, it's fine."
Plenty interesting rattling about in Farrell's twisted head and McClane's insane one, this one battles close to top of my fav fics, because it's one of the extreme few that left me feeling content and satisfied. (A lot of others left me flailing and searching for another new fic to read.) I was a little disappointed when the POV switched from Farrell to McClane near the beginning because all that messed up introspection is fabulous
, but that's a small gripe."Kid, you jack off next to me and I'll shoot you."
"With what? The FBI took your gun, remember?"
"I'll dismantle my IV pole and make a rocket launcher out of it."
Funny banter, drugged-up-ness, meta jokes and cabin fever as the duo recuperate in the hospital.(Lucy) shook her head sadly. "Your Freudian crush on my father is kind of disturbing, Farrell."
Christmas fic! Seriously, Die Hard
and Christmas, please, this is important
, even if canon has pretty much forgotten about that connection.Obsessive people are, well, obsessive. They have files on their Macs about the things that they're obsessive about. For example, Matt might have a folder like this on his desktop:
Main folder: McClane, J.
Subfolders: Nakatomi Plaza. Dulles Airport. Federal Reserve. NYPD. LAPD.
Sub-subfolders: Hans Gruber. Sgt. Al Powell. Richard Thornberg, asshole. General Ezperanza. Colonel Stuart. Simon Gruber. Zeus Carver. Holly Gennaro McClane. Lucy McClane.
Sub-sub-subfolder: This is Not Porn. Stop it.
More well-written funny and Farrell being awkward and drugged up. Lucy makes an adorable appearance in the proceedings, which is also loffly. I really loffs the funny, whut, and though the denouement is a bit too fast and almost comes out of nowhere, this fic has more lines like:Matt's bad in a crisis, really bad. This isn't quite a crisis, but he might be pissing himself all the same. He'd ask how McClane got past the security door, but it is McClane. He might have just scaled the side of the building with his fingers.
[Matt to Lucy:] "Luce… have you
met your dad? The man will still be here after the nuclear apocalypse. He'll outlive us all. Him and the cockroaches. And he
rescued (Holly). How can you not love somebody who saves your life over and over?"
I don't like this fic's ending, but it does have some fabulous lines, like:A month after that, John bullies his way into Matt's new apartment. How he found the address, since the guy can't even Google, he has no idea. He probably stuck a gun in Bowman's face. Or threw a helicopter at him.“Hey, pick up the script for my contacts, willya?”
“What am I, senile?” John says, tone lighter, and with the tell-tale jocularity of trying to charm his way through a lie. “I already got ‘em, right here.” There’s the crisp retort of paper being shaken, and a woman’s voice says sharply,
Hey, quit it!
Matt purses his lips, forcing back a smile. “That’s not a drug store bag, asshole, it’s clearly a newspaper. Connie’s newspaper, if I’m not mistaken.”
“So what now, you got super hearing to go with the super brain? That what you get from listening to shitty loud music these days?”
“It’s to make up for the shitty eyesight,” Matt says. He looks up into the mirror. His face looks stupid. “Seriously, don’t forget my contacts, asshole.”
Hits two of my kinks: non-gratuitous outsider pov and domesticity, woo hoo! Jack McClane meets his dad's, uh, roomie.
There used to be a long rambly bit here where I explain the crackfic that my brain came up with last night before bed, but I've decided I'm going to try to actually write it. (Try,
is the word.) My noggin' is in a strange place, indeed.