I am undecided; please tell me what to write
So hey, I'm going to bed now in an attempt to wrench myself back onto a saner sleep schedule (yes, that does mean I've been as misaligned to the sun as you think it means) and am therefore not going to write anything tonight...
But.
What should I work on Friday night?
View poll: What should Liz write this weekend?
Here are some excerpts, to help you decide!
---------------
The Guardian in Spite of Herself, ch. 16
The others vanished before Naga had finished her warning -- Kohaku underground, Suisen in a flash of light, and Kakashi and Kafunnokaze simply gone. And not a moment too soon. A rain of kunai pierced the layer of pine needles that carpeted the sandy forest soil, half of them sizzling on contact as if the blades themselves were on fire.
"You are trespassing on the lands of Gouzen-sama, the rightful daimyo of Volcano Country!" a high tenor voice said, echoing and reechoing from the trees with no clear point of origin. "All enemies and spies will be executed! Surrender and state your business and you may survive."
Yeah right.
"We are on lawful pursuit of an S-class missing-nin, under the authority of the Sandaime Hokage and the Master of Hidden Grass. Stand down and let us pass," Kakashi said. His voice echoed in an eerie mimic of whatever jutsu the ambushers had used.
A branch high in a nearby pine tree twitched. Naga grinned. Score one for the Copy Nin. Mirroring always freaked people out. Twitchy enemies got sloppy.
She drew a kunai from her thigh holster, careful not to disturb the pine needles that screened her from view. They prickled through the fabric of her clothes, teetering on the line between itch and pain, but Kafunnokaze's gloves and a bit of chakra let her keep a secure grip on the branch. And she was a Leaf-nin. No way would she ever get caught because of a tree.
---------------
Narutostuck: Damaged Goods
The ramen stand in question stood at the edge of one of the village's numerous parks, between a barbeque place and a ticky-tacky tourist shop clearly set up by some enterprising soul looking to cash in on the recent end-of-war euphoria. Like any sane troll (or sane human, and unlike some speciesist assholes, Karkat was prepared to admit that neither race was completely incapable of surfacing from the sea of idiocy for a few, rare, gasping moments of intelligent behavior) needed a badly silkscreened illustration of the Sufferer's face. Particularly when it might as well have been a bad picture of Karkat's face, ugh, fuck no, he was not a narcissist.
Nobody was waiting.
"Fuck my life," Karkat muttered, stomping up to the counter. Of course he was the first one here, never mind that -- according to the stupidly ornamental pillar clock at the edge of the park -- he was actually five minutes late. A person might think that army officers might value timeliness, but apparently that would be too much to expect from the world.
"Are you buying anything or are you just going to glare holes into my stove?" the stall owner asked, leaning her elbows on the counter and staring down at Karkat with rust-brown eyes. "I charge for damages, no matter what your rank in the army."
"I could be glaring holes into your head," Karkat snapped. "Would that be less of an imposition on your busy life of cutthroat commerce and so-called comestibles that almost certainly violate at least a dozen different health code regulations?"
The chef laughed and hooked a stray hank of greasy hair behind her down-turned horn. "I don't know, why don't you try and see what happens? Or you could turn around and join those other soldiers who're waving at you like pan-bruised wigglers. The big one with the wings bought an extra bowl when he ordered, and I bet it has your sign on the label."
---------------
untitled Jade/Dave/Terezi crossdressing porn
"You are a giant pair of slowpokes!" Jade calls, raising her voice to make sure the others can hear her through the closed doors. "You're going to make us late for our reservation at a very nice restaurant. We'll walk in and instead of people saying, 'Wow, those people look so cool!' they'll say, 'Wow, those people are such jerks, showing up a whole hour late and still expecting to get a table!'"
"Hold your hoofbeasts! This outfit has far too many intricate layers and pieces. Its construction cannot be rushed," Terezi says, opening the workroom door and leaning through the gap. Only her head, shoulders, and one gray hand are visible. A green silk tie hangs loose around her neck.
"Also what gives, why are you out in the main room already?" Dave adds, his voice slightly muffled by his bedroom door. "I thought you wanted to surprise us with your runway strut."
"We can't watch each other without opening our doors," Jade points out. "It's easier to just come out into the open once we're dressed. But don't worry! I promise to clap when I see you."
"We can even set up the music for your grand entrance, if you'd like," Terezi offers, shouldering her door open further. She is all stark monochrome -- black trousers, white shirt, black waistcoat, black hair, white teeth, black lips, gray skin, white lacquered claws -- and then, drawing the eye like magnets, the brilliant red of her glasses and the vibrant green of her undone tie. Her taloned feet are bare on the thick white carpet and make no sound when she moves.
"Do you want help with the tie?" Jade asks.
Terezi starts to shake her head, then pauses. "Do you have experience with this type of knot?"
"Grandpa showed me how to tie bowties," Jade says. "It's not quite the same thing, but I looked up a bunch of the knots online, just in case."
Terezi spreads her arms and tips her chin ever so slightly back, baring her vulnerable throat. "I am at your mercy," she says.
Jade finds herself crowding Terezi against the doorframe without any clear memory of either walking or teleporting across the distance between them. She raises her hands and strokes up the sides of Terezi's waistcoat -- it's thick and soft, like a combination of satin and felt, with a paisley pattern embroidered into the fabric in jet black thread.
Terezi draws a sharp breath at the touch, leaning forward to press her nose against Jade's cheek. "Beautiful," she whispers. Then she licks Jade's cheek and grins. "Tie now. Sloppy makeouts later."
---------------
Weregild, part 19
"I may what?" the Executioner demanded.
"If you wish to keep watch on Arthur and Dominick for the duration of their stay in St. Louis, then Ariadne is at your disposal for that task," Jean-Claude said. "She remains under my authority in all other ways, of course, but if it will ease your mind, this is a small thing well within my power to offer."
Ariadne slowly and carefully uncurled her toes and gave Arthur's leg an apologetic pat. He nudged back, apparently unfazed by the tiny trickle of blood she could feel soaking into his sock. She spared a second to regret that they were in public; she would very much have enjoyed licking the wound until it closed.
"I take it Ariadne's the one sitting next to Arthur?" the Executioner asked.
"I am," Ariadne said. She rose from her chair and offered a slight bow toward the high table.
"And you're okay with Jean-Claude loaning you out like a piece of furniture?" the Executioner said, leaning forward with a tight scowl on her face.
Ariadne shrugged. "He is the Master of the City. I have neither the strength nor the inclination to challenge him. So yes, I go where he sends me."
The Executioner's scowl deepened and her hands clenched on the edge of the high table. "Right. And if you're so soft and harmless, what good will you do me as a surveillance partner?"
---------------
Playing Politics
"There are better ways to release frustration than asking your brother to box five rounds," Aravis says, her voice dangerously mild. Small objects clink and rustle as she moves them in the cupboard by the mirror.
Cor doesn't lift his head from their mattress, where he'd collapsed with an exaggerated moan as soon as possible after his humiliation at Corin's fists.
"I needed to hit something," he says. "Do you know another morally acceptable way for a king to break someone's nose?"
"I would be more inclined to believe your rationalization if Corin's nose were currently broken, which, in point of truth, it is not," Aravis says. "But the outworlders will be more inclined to speak with him now -- they do seem to share his general outlook on violence and authority -- which is what I assume you intended."
Her weight settles on the edge of the bed, making the mattress tilt and sway under Cor's body. Cloth rustles mysteriously.
"Everything is politics with you," Cor grumbles, not bothering to make his tone match the words.
"Said the moon to the sun. Hips up."
Cor obediently raises himself an inch or so on his elbows and knees, gritting his teeth against the scream of his shoulders and the bruises slowly blooming on his chest and sides. Aravis reaches underneath and begins to unlace his trousers, fingers deft and sure from long practice despite the awkward angle.
---------------
I am fully aware that I have a bunch of other unfinished stories hanging over my head, but these are the ones that are closest to speaking to me right at the moment and are thus most likely to get anywhere useful. (I will also, of course, be working on my NFE fic, but that is still in brainstorm/outline phase rather than draft phase, so it doesn't quite feel like writing, and I really want to write stuff.)
ETA, Friday night: Thank you to everyone who voted! The tally (combining Dreamwidth poll results with LJ comments) is 5 votes for "The Guardian in Spite of Herself," 4 for "Weregild," 3 for "Playing Politics," and 1 each for "Damaged Goods" and the sadly untitled crossdressing porn.
When weighed against relative section lengths (and adding in that Asuka almost voted for "Weregild" rather than "Damaged Goods"), I'm going to try finishing part 19 of "Weregild" before charging into the wilds of "Guardian" ch. 16. (I'm a lot more likely to write one thousand words in a night than to write four thousand, basically.) But if "Weregild" proves recalcitrant, I will swap over immediately to "Guardian."
And now, onward!
You can also read this entry on Dreamwidth, where there are currently (
comments)
But.
What should I work on Friday night?
View poll: What should Liz write this weekend?
Here are some excerpts, to help you decide!
---------------
The Guardian in Spite of Herself, ch. 16
The others vanished before Naga had finished her warning -- Kohaku underground, Suisen in a flash of light, and Kakashi and Kafunnokaze simply gone. And not a moment too soon. A rain of kunai pierced the layer of pine needles that carpeted the sandy forest soil, half of them sizzling on contact as if the blades themselves were on fire.
"You are trespassing on the lands of Gouzen-sama, the rightful daimyo of Volcano Country!" a high tenor voice said, echoing and reechoing from the trees with no clear point of origin. "All enemies and spies will be executed! Surrender and state your business and you may survive."
Yeah right.
"We are on lawful pursuit of an S-class missing-nin, under the authority of the Sandaime Hokage and the Master of Hidden Grass. Stand down and let us pass," Kakashi said. His voice echoed in an eerie mimic of whatever jutsu the ambushers had used.
A branch high in a nearby pine tree twitched. Naga grinned. Score one for the Copy Nin. Mirroring always freaked people out. Twitchy enemies got sloppy.
She drew a kunai from her thigh holster, careful not to disturb the pine needles that screened her from view. They prickled through the fabric of her clothes, teetering on the line between itch and pain, but Kafunnokaze's gloves and a bit of chakra let her keep a secure grip on the branch. And she was a Leaf-nin. No way would she ever get caught because of a tree.
---------------
Narutostuck: Damaged Goods
The ramen stand in question stood at the edge of one of the village's numerous parks, between a barbeque place and a ticky-tacky tourist shop clearly set up by some enterprising soul looking to cash in on the recent end-of-war euphoria. Like any sane troll (or sane human, and unlike some speciesist assholes, Karkat was prepared to admit that neither race was completely incapable of surfacing from the sea of idiocy for a few, rare, gasping moments of intelligent behavior) needed a badly silkscreened illustration of the Sufferer's face. Particularly when it might as well have been a bad picture of Karkat's face, ugh, fuck no, he was not a narcissist.
Nobody was waiting.
"Fuck my life," Karkat muttered, stomping up to the counter. Of course he was the first one here, never mind that -- according to the stupidly ornamental pillar clock at the edge of the park -- he was actually five minutes late. A person might think that army officers might value timeliness, but apparently that would be too much to expect from the world.
"Are you buying anything or are you just going to glare holes into my stove?" the stall owner asked, leaning her elbows on the counter and staring down at Karkat with rust-brown eyes. "I charge for damages, no matter what your rank in the army."
"I could be glaring holes into your head," Karkat snapped. "Would that be less of an imposition on your busy life of cutthroat commerce and so-called comestibles that almost certainly violate at least a dozen different health code regulations?"
The chef laughed and hooked a stray hank of greasy hair behind her down-turned horn. "I don't know, why don't you try and see what happens? Or you could turn around and join those other soldiers who're waving at you like pan-bruised wigglers. The big one with the wings bought an extra bowl when he ordered, and I bet it has your sign on the label."
---------------
untitled Jade/Dave/Terezi crossdressing porn
"You are a giant pair of slowpokes!" Jade calls, raising her voice to make sure the others can hear her through the closed doors. "You're going to make us late for our reservation at a very nice restaurant. We'll walk in and instead of people saying, 'Wow, those people look so cool!' they'll say, 'Wow, those people are such jerks, showing up a whole hour late and still expecting to get a table!'"
"Hold your hoofbeasts! This outfit has far too many intricate layers and pieces. Its construction cannot be rushed," Terezi says, opening the workroom door and leaning through the gap. Only her head, shoulders, and one gray hand are visible. A green silk tie hangs loose around her neck.
"Also what gives, why are you out in the main room already?" Dave adds, his voice slightly muffled by his bedroom door. "I thought you wanted to surprise us with your runway strut."
"We can't watch each other without opening our doors," Jade points out. "It's easier to just come out into the open once we're dressed. But don't worry! I promise to clap when I see you."
"We can even set up the music for your grand entrance, if you'd like," Terezi offers, shouldering her door open further. She is all stark monochrome -- black trousers, white shirt, black waistcoat, black hair, white teeth, black lips, gray skin, white lacquered claws -- and then, drawing the eye like magnets, the brilliant red of her glasses and the vibrant green of her undone tie. Her taloned feet are bare on the thick white carpet and make no sound when she moves.
"Do you want help with the tie?" Jade asks.
Terezi starts to shake her head, then pauses. "Do you have experience with this type of knot?"
"Grandpa showed me how to tie bowties," Jade says. "It's not quite the same thing, but I looked up a bunch of the knots online, just in case."
Terezi spreads her arms and tips her chin ever so slightly back, baring her vulnerable throat. "I am at your mercy," she says.
Jade finds herself crowding Terezi against the doorframe without any clear memory of either walking or teleporting across the distance between them. She raises her hands and strokes up the sides of Terezi's waistcoat -- it's thick and soft, like a combination of satin and felt, with a paisley pattern embroidered into the fabric in jet black thread.
Terezi draws a sharp breath at the touch, leaning forward to press her nose against Jade's cheek. "Beautiful," she whispers. Then she licks Jade's cheek and grins. "Tie now. Sloppy makeouts later."
---------------
Weregild, part 19
"I may what?" the Executioner demanded.
"If you wish to keep watch on Arthur and Dominick for the duration of their stay in St. Louis, then Ariadne is at your disposal for that task," Jean-Claude said. "She remains under my authority in all other ways, of course, but if it will ease your mind, this is a small thing well within my power to offer."
Ariadne slowly and carefully uncurled her toes and gave Arthur's leg an apologetic pat. He nudged back, apparently unfazed by the tiny trickle of blood she could feel soaking into his sock. She spared a second to regret that they were in public; she would very much have enjoyed licking the wound until it closed.
"I take it Ariadne's the one sitting next to Arthur?" the Executioner asked.
"I am," Ariadne said. She rose from her chair and offered a slight bow toward the high table.
"And you're okay with Jean-Claude loaning you out like a piece of furniture?" the Executioner said, leaning forward with a tight scowl on her face.
Ariadne shrugged. "He is the Master of the City. I have neither the strength nor the inclination to challenge him. So yes, I go where he sends me."
The Executioner's scowl deepened and her hands clenched on the edge of the high table. "Right. And if you're so soft and harmless, what good will you do me as a surveillance partner?"
---------------
Playing Politics
"There are better ways to release frustration than asking your brother to box five rounds," Aravis says, her voice dangerously mild. Small objects clink and rustle as she moves them in the cupboard by the mirror.
Cor doesn't lift his head from their mattress, where he'd collapsed with an exaggerated moan as soon as possible after his humiliation at Corin's fists.
"I needed to hit something," he says. "Do you know another morally acceptable way for a king to break someone's nose?"
"I would be more inclined to believe your rationalization if Corin's nose were currently broken, which, in point of truth, it is not," Aravis says. "But the outworlders will be more inclined to speak with him now -- they do seem to share his general outlook on violence and authority -- which is what I assume you intended."
Her weight settles on the edge of the bed, making the mattress tilt and sway under Cor's body. Cloth rustles mysteriously.
"Everything is politics with you," Cor grumbles, not bothering to make his tone match the words.
"Said the moon to the sun. Hips up."
Cor obediently raises himself an inch or so on his elbows and knees, gritting his teeth against the scream of his shoulders and the bruises slowly blooming on his chest and sides. Aravis reaches underneath and begins to unlace his trousers, fingers deft and sure from long practice despite the awkward angle.
---------------
I am fully aware that I have a bunch of other unfinished stories hanging over my head, but these are the ones that are closest to speaking to me right at the moment and are thus most likely to get anywhere useful. (I will also, of course, be working on my NFE fic, but that is still in brainstorm/outline phase rather than draft phase, so it doesn't quite feel like writing, and I really want to write stuff.)
ETA, Friday night: Thank you to everyone who voted! The tally (combining Dreamwidth poll results with LJ comments) is 5 votes for "The Guardian in Spite of Herself," 4 for "Weregild," 3 for "Playing Politics," and 1 each for "Damaged Goods" and the sadly untitled crossdressing porn.
When weighed against relative section lengths (and adding in that Asuka almost voted for "Weregild" rather than "Damaged Goods"), I'm going to try finishing part 19 of "Weregild" before charging into the wilds of "Guardian" ch. 16. (I'm a lot more likely to write one thousand words in a night than to write four thousand, basically.) But if "Weregild" proves recalcitrant, I will swap over immediately to "Guardian."
And now, onward!
You can also read this entry on Dreamwidth, where there are currently (
comments)