I've seen this meme on a couple people's LJs, and I think it could work for me since I keep writing a few pages of new fic and then stuttering to a halt. I mean, I think I can finish one line, at least
( Read more... )
Red was half smiling, half cringing. Beside her, a different Red, same expression. Beside her, a little girl who could never be a minute over sixteen, her hands covering her mouth, her eyes wide, her skin flushed pink. Bruce sat up on the barn floor and rubbed the back of his head, dazed and maybe a little bit scared; there'd be a knot on his skull later, and probably a big nasty bruise where that little girl had hit him, and why was Patti holding that sword? Why did she look like she knew how to use it? And when did the studio in the barn turn into some Tae Bo-looking mess, chock full of girls less than one-third his age (oh god when did he get that old)? "Baby, I can explain," Patti started. "You just surprised us-"
Bruce held up a hand and tried to blink the stars out of his vision. Pancakes, he thought. Make some pancakes for everyone, maybe get an explanation for why his wife looked to be training her own personal army of tweens. Pancakes, he could do. The other stuff . . . he'd figure it out when they got to it.
2.
"Photophobia, anemia, seemingly controlled neurofibromatosis," House said, tapping the marker against the white board. There was a dead guy in the morgue trying to eat his residents, which he didn't mind except it would bother Cuddy who would in turn bother him, and the annoying blond girl was annoyingly right about the diagnosis. He grudgingly turned to her to tell her so; she stared back at him, looking too much like she wanted to pounce on him and shove that overly sharp wooden tent peg up his ass.
Red was half smiling, half cringing. Beside her, a different Red, same expression. Beside her, a little girl who could never be a minute over sixteen, her hands covering her mouth, her eyes wide, her skin flushed pink. Bruce sat up on the barn floor and rubbed the back of his head, dazed and maybe a little bit scared; there'd be a knot on his skull later, and probably a big nasty bruise where that little girl had hit him, and why was Patti holding that sword? Why did she look like she knew how to use it? And when did the studio in the barn turn into some Tae Bo-looking mess, chock full of girls less than one-third his age (oh god when did he get that old)? "Baby, I can explain," Patti started. "You just surprised us-"
Bruce held up a hand and tried to blink the stars out of his vision. Pancakes, he thought. Make some pancakes for everyone, maybe get an explanation for why his wife looked to be training her own personal army of tweens. Pancakes, he could do. The other stuff . . . he'd figure it out when they got to it.
2.
"Photophobia, anemia, seemingly controlled neurofibromatosis," House said, tapping the marker against the white board. There was a dead guy in the morgue trying to eat his residents, which he didn't mind except it would bother Cuddy who would in turn bother him, and the annoying blond girl was annoyingly right about the diagnosis. He grudgingly turned to her to tell her so; she stared back at him, looking too much like she wanted to pounce on him and shove that overly sharp wooden tent peg up his ass.
Hot.
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment