Those stories I start and never seem to finish
I don't know if I should do this, but I guess I'm feeling the need to share just a paragraph of stuff that I'm currently writing, to see if I can get moving. These are just a few, I have a lot more.... Please note that these stories haven't been beta'ed or even revised and most titles are probably temporary. Some have changed as I kept writing.
Robin Hood BBC
Untitled yet - Guy of Gisborne
There's permanent blood in his hands. No matter how much he washes his hands, no matter how much he scrubs with sand, earth or salt it doesn't go away. He tries to hide it with gloves so that no one else sees the crimson colour of his hands.
Two faces of the same coin - Guy of Gisborne, Robin Hood
Pretending he hadn't noticed his second shadow Guy continued through the forest toward the small chapel where he had gone for the past few nights. On his hand there were a few yellow and white daffodils that he had picked near the river earlier that day and concealed on his bunk. He walked slowly letting just the moonlight guide him through the forest. His feet took him without thinking, since he had done that path so many times now he almost knew it by heart. It was becoming a ritual, Guy reckoned. He wasn't even really sure why he kept doing it night after night. And yet, the next day when he thought he wouldn't do it any more, he'd be gathering water for the camp and he'd pick the daffodils and find himself staring at night at the top of the camp eyes wide open without being able to sleep. His hand would reach for the concealed daffodils he'd get up and leave the camp letting his feet guide him.
White Collar
Bored - Neal, Diana, Jones
Neal felt so incredibly bored that it was almost driving him to tears.
Sitting at his desk in the bullpen he tried to focus while playing with the rubber-band ball in his hands but the more he looked at the file Jones had just handed him the more his brain rebelled and wandered somewhere else. To things like - what Peter might be doing right now at “the cave”.
Probably having more fun cataloguing paper clips than he was looking at this case.
Rubbing his eyes Neal tried to read for the hundredth time the first paragraph of what looked like a case of sweepstakes fraud. The words in front of him blurred no matter how hard he blinked. Maybe a coffee would help. Leaning back on his chair Neal ran his hands through his hair pondering if he had reached that state of desperation where he was actually considering drinking the office's coffee.
No roads left but one - Peter Burke
Peter thought looking at the myriad of papers, maps and pictures strewn across the table of the conference room. As an FBI agent he often thought that it was a waste of good talent these people he arrested. Some of them such brilliant minds if only they put it to good purposes instead of crime.
Looking outside the windows of the Federal building into the New York night he still couldn't believe that after so many years of chasing this Houdini of white collar crime he was finally going to catch him. Neal Caffrey the criminal magician, who had eluded him for so long, always one step ahead of Peter finally had a countdown put on his freedom. This time Peter knew exactly where the kid was going to be. The kid... a brilliant one, Peter thought again hands in his pants pockets looking but unseeing the traffic lights below.
Powerless - Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke
Rain poured heavily in New York. The dark clouds above were casting a glum shadow, making it look as if night had already come, or as if the sun didn't exist at all.
As if it had been stolen.
Neal would have stolen the sun if he could. It would have been the ultimate heist, the con of cons. He would have done it for her, even if it burned his hands, his wings, if it killed him. And if it killed him, he would have welcomed the fire.
James Bond
Obituary - M
The cursor blinked annoyingly at her on the computer screen. Behind the word processor program laid open the file of the late Commander James Bond. M had opened the file in hopes it would help her write the obituary for him. She knew she didn't need it, M knew exactly who 007 was -where he was born, his education, his tribulations, missions, even things that he probably thought she never knew about his life. And yet her fingers hovered over the keyboard the words not coming. Nothing that came to her mind seemed fitting. Everything she started to write sounded hollow, boring and uninteresting. So unfitting of the life Bond had lived. How could she put into a few sentences who James Bond had been? How could she pay homage to a man that was anything but a simple tool, a blunt killing instrument as 00's were supposed to be?
Spooks
Looking at shadows in a cave - Harry Pearce
Some wounds don't heal. Not completely. Not even enough to leave an ugly uneven red scar. Some of those wounds remain open, not bleeding, but open and they hurt once in a while reminding you that they exist and that whatever had led for them to exist it had been an ugly business. To Harry Pearce head of section D, such wounds were rare. He would even firmly and convincingly deny to having them. He would say that in his position he couldn't have the luxury of aching wounds from past regrets. He couldn't have the luxury of regrets, period. Past or future. But the truth - that he'd only admit to himself and only on some very bad days - was that he did have quite a few and one bore the name of Lucas North.
Dum Spiro Spero - Lucas North
While he breathed there was hope. Though sometimes it was hard to breathe. Sometimes he thought he wasn't breathing at all and that's when he wondered if he was even alive, or already in hell. Where days and nights seemed blended together into one endless nightmare. Where hours didn't seem to count and seasons didn't change.
As they put the hood over Lucas' head he tried not to panic and succumb to the memories of other times when this had happened and what had come next. His body remembered it instinctively, he didn't need his mind to take him there. He tensed as they dragged him into a car. Maybe he hadn't been convincing enough when he had accepted they proposal.
Singing in the rain - Lucas North and Elizabeta
It was in times like these when Elizabeta felt her heart soar that she knew without a shadow of a doubt how much she loved this man. When his smile and laughter were free and open instead of guarded and careful.
It was like this as she saw him dancing in the rain, clumsy long limbs trying to mimic Gene Kelly in the eternal film Singing in the rain. She couldn't help herself from laughing as she told him half-heartedly- because it was just too funny and it filled her heart- to come out of the rain.
It was pouring in earnest and Lucas North sang the lyrics to the main title song by heart. Something Elizabeta would never have imagined that he'd know. There was still so much she didn't know about this man that had entered her life. Sometimes there was such a carefree innocence like a child and other time he seemed to carry the weight of hundreds of years of life on his shoulders. Right now as she laughed so much her sides already hurt she could see his lighter child-like side.
Have a great week!
Robin Hood BBC
Untitled yet - Guy of Gisborne
There's permanent blood in his hands. No matter how much he washes his hands, no matter how much he scrubs with sand, earth or salt it doesn't go away. He tries to hide it with gloves so that no one else sees the crimson colour of his hands.
Two faces of the same coin - Guy of Gisborne, Robin Hood
Pretending he hadn't noticed his second shadow Guy continued through the forest toward the small chapel where he had gone for the past few nights. On his hand there were a few yellow and white daffodils that he had picked near the river earlier that day and concealed on his bunk. He walked slowly letting just the moonlight guide him through the forest. His feet took him without thinking, since he had done that path so many times now he almost knew it by heart. It was becoming a ritual, Guy reckoned. He wasn't even really sure why he kept doing it night after night. And yet, the next day when he thought he wouldn't do it any more, he'd be gathering water for the camp and he'd pick the daffodils and find himself staring at night at the top of the camp eyes wide open without being able to sleep. His hand would reach for the concealed daffodils he'd get up and leave the camp letting his feet guide him.
White Collar
Bored - Neal, Diana, Jones
Neal felt so incredibly bored that it was almost driving him to tears.
Sitting at his desk in the bullpen he tried to focus while playing with the rubber-band ball in his hands but the more he looked at the file Jones had just handed him the more his brain rebelled and wandered somewhere else. To things like - what Peter might be doing right now at “the cave”.
Probably having more fun cataloguing paper clips than he was looking at this case.
Rubbing his eyes Neal tried to read for the hundredth time the first paragraph of what looked like a case of sweepstakes fraud. The words in front of him blurred no matter how hard he blinked. Maybe a coffee would help. Leaning back on his chair Neal ran his hands through his hair pondering if he had reached that state of desperation where he was actually considering drinking the office's coffee.
No roads left but one - Peter Burke
Peter thought looking at the myriad of papers, maps and pictures strewn across the table of the conference room. As an FBI agent he often thought that it was a waste of good talent these people he arrested. Some of them such brilliant minds if only they put it to good purposes instead of crime.
Looking outside the windows of the Federal building into the New York night he still couldn't believe that after so many years of chasing this Houdini of white collar crime he was finally going to catch him. Neal Caffrey the criminal magician, who had eluded him for so long, always one step ahead of Peter finally had a countdown put on his freedom. This time Peter knew exactly where the kid was going to be. The kid... a brilliant one, Peter thought again hands in his pants pockets looking but unseeing the traffic lights below.
Powerless - Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke
Rain poured heavily in New York. The dark clouds above were casting a glum shadow, making it look as if night had already come, or as if the sun didn't exist at all.
As if it had been stolen.
Neal would have stolen the sun if he could. It would have been the ultimate heist, the con of cons. He would have done it for her, even if it burned his hands, his wings, if it killed him. And if it killed him, he would have welcomed the fire.
James Bond
Obituary - M
The cursor blinked annoyingly at her on the computer screen. Behind the word processor program laid open the file of the late Commander James Bond. M had opened the file in hopes it would help her write the obituary for him. She knew she didn't need it, M knew exactly who 007 was -where he was born, his education, his tribulations, missions, even things that he probably thought she never knew about his life. And yet her fingers hovered over the keyboard the words not coming. Nothing that came to her mind seemed fitting. Everything she started to write sounded hollow, boring and uninteresting. So unfitting of the life Bond had lived. How could she put into a few sentences who James Bond had been? How could she pay homage to a man that was anything but a simple tool, a blunt killing instrument as 00's were supposed to be?
Spooks
Looking at shadows in a cave - Harry Pearce
Some wounds don't heal. Not completely. Not even enough to leave an ugly uneven red scar. Some of those wounds remain open, not bleeding, but open and they hurt once in a while reminding you that they exist and that whatever had led for them to exist it had been an ugly business. To Harry Pearce head of section D, such wounds were rare. He would even firmly and convincingly deny to having them. He would say that in his position he couldn't have the luxury of aching wounds from past regrets. He couldn't have the luxury of regrets, period. Past or future. But the truth - that he'd only admit to himself and only on some very bad days - was that he did have quite a few and one bore the name of Lucas North.
Dum Spiro Spero - Lucas North
While he breathed there was hope. Though sometimes it was hard to breathe. Sometimes he thought he wasn't breathing at all and that's when he wondered if he was even alive, or already in hell. Where days and nights seemed blended together into one endless nightmare. Where hours didn't seem to count and seasons didn't change.
As they put the hood over Lucas' head he tried not to panic and succumb to the memories of other times when this had happened and what had come next. His body remembered it instinctively, he didn't need his mind to take him there. He tensed as they dragged him into a car. Maybe he hadn't been convincing enough when he had accepted they proposal.
Singing in the rain - Lucas North and Elizabeta
It was in times like these when Elizabeta felt her heart soar that she knew without a shadow of a doubt how much she loved this man. When his smile and laughter were free and open instead of guarded and careful.
It was like this as she saw him dancing in the rain, clumsy long limbs trying to mimic Gene Kelly in the eternal film Singing in the rain. She couldn't help herself from laughing as she told him half-heartedly- because it was just too funny and it filled her heart- to come out of the rain.
It was pouring in earnest and Lucas North sang the lyrics to the main title song by heart. Something Elizabeta would never have imagined that he'd know. There was still so much she didn't know about this man that had entered her life. Sometimes there was such a carefree innocence like a child and other time he seemed to carry the weight of hundreds of years of life on his shoulders. Right now as she laughed so much her sides already hurt she could see his lighter child-like side.
Have a great week!