Writer's Meme
Gakked from all around LJ.
When you see this, post a little weensy excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.
Oh, dear God. Where do I fucking start?!?!?!
Dean vampire fic
Dean is warm when he wakes, deep in the plush comfort of flannel and feathers.
Dean siren fic
Dean can’t really go out in public anymore.
His old clothes don’t seem to fit right over even the most minor changes in his body, and even when he *does* sneak out, his voice betrays him instantly.
SPN / Prison Break crossover
Dean did a stretch of time in prison once.
He’d been careless and stupid, and landed in the pen on a year-long stretch for assault with a deadly.
"reel_spn" fic
Annoyed, Dean slammed the door as he left, hearing a faint, “Oh, that’s *real* mature, Dean! You’re such a *girl*!” even through the heavy wood.
SPN apocafic
Dean was no stranger to trouble, and the years since the end of the world had been difficult in more ways than one, but Sam had thought that things were getting better.
Jesus FUCK, that's just what's lying around for Supernatural! Do I even want to investigate my SGA folder?
*sighs*
Here goes nothing.
SGA eighties fic, yes dammit I AM still working on it, motherfucker!
John shivered with excitement and hurried through washing his hair with the shampoo someone had left there. Prell was okay, but the heavily chlorinated water always left him feeling vaguely sticky, even when he lathered twice.
Mike’s younger sister had some stuff from Australia that the two of them swore by, even though it was like, totally made from kangaroo paws or something. They had really nice hair, though, both of them, even if Mike totally was an asshole.
John wondered what kind of shampoo Rodney used.
Champagne Like Cherry Cola, Lorne / Parrish
“Well, this is . . . different,” Lorne said after he entered and Parrish handed him a glass containing a couple of inches of champagne. He sniffed it, and then took a cautious sip. “Tastes like cherry cola.”
GOD, NOT HOOKERFIC - I'm serious. That's what the file is called.
John Sheppard took his discharge papers and got on the first Greyhound bus he saw, too stunned to even notice the destination. The hearing had been perfunctory at best, the decision of the officer’s panel final.
They told him he was lucky to be keeping his rank, lucky to get off with a hefty fine that wiped out his back pay and most of his savings. He was lucky, they told him, that he wasn’t doing time in a military jail or an Afghani POW camp.
He was lucky, they said, that he’d never fly again.
Raining Like Tennessee Honey
After awhile, a long while of misery and a strange sort of growing complacence, as if it's customary -- no, normal, normal and ordinary for Rodney to feel all the time as if his internal organs had been removed with a rusty blade -- it occurs to him that perhaps giving up offworld missions was not the wisest course of action.
If he'd stayed with a team, any team that would have him, Rodney surely would have noticed Parrish in the fields before the man came up and touched his shoulder.
A Bird And A Fish In Love, McShep
When Rodney ends up with wings, Sheppard doesn’t speak to him for a *week*.
For the sake of completeness, let's add Smallville to the list, though frankly? The only one of these I've even glanced at lately is the historical one. I'd still really like to finish that. It's just sad and lonely to leave it hanging out in my journal all by its lonesome like this.
Poor little fic.
*weeps*
Clark vampire fic. And Buffy makes an appearance, too.
"I'm a . . . a vampire," he said aloud. It didn't sound right, so he tried again. "I'm a *vampire*."
He sighed. "I don't *feel* like a vampire."
Clark was confused and stressed and a little angry.
Well, so far, death was turning out to be a lot like life. This sucked.
The Griffin and The Falcon, Medieval CLex
Clark, predictably, blushed. “This is luftalking indeed,” he whispered. “I will think me at court to hearen such.”
Alexander drew his fingers through soft locks like black silk. “Dost thou wish me to play at chivalry and dalliance with thee?” he asked.
Clark dared to lean into Alexander’s body, nuzzling his hip and rubbing his cheek across the lush softness of his lord’s woolen tunic. “My liege, my luflych,” he moaned, “Wouldst I have thee teach me how best to please thee.”
Alexander closed his eyes and gritted his teeth against his body’s carnal urges. “Wouldst thou haf me take thee here?”
“Aye,” Clark agreed roughly. “Forby, I am thine at the time and place of thy choosing, be it thy manor or the tiltyard or the street before the very Church.”
Alexander could not prevent his wry chuckle. “Thou wouldst disagree, were thy father to espy thee thus, I trow,” he suggested.
Clark flushed ever darker and smiled brightly. “Aye,” he agreed. “But haps am I more than a little mad with love for thee.”
Alexander caressed Clark’s face, tracing the firm lines of brow and cheek and jaw. The boy turned into the gesture, his eyes falling shut, and a tiny mewling sound escaping his throat. “Grant merci,” he whispered.
Good Lord, that's a lot of WIPs! I bet there's people out there who are well ahead of me, though.
When you see this, post a little weensy excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.
Oh, dear God. Where do I fucking start?!?!?!
Dean vampire fic
Dean is warm when he wakes, deep in the plush comfort of flannel and feathers.
Dean siren fic
Dean can’t really go out in public anymore.
His old clothes don’t seem to fit right over even the most minor changes in his body, and even when he *does* sneak out, his voice betrays him instantly.
SPN / Prison Break crossover
Dean did a stretch of time in prison once.
He’d been careless and stupid, and landed in the pen on a year-long stretch for assault with a deadly.
"reel_spn" fic
Annoyed, Dean slammed the door as he left, hearing a faint, “Oh, that’s *real* mature, Dean! You’re such a *girl*!” even through the heavy wood.
SPN apocafic
Dean was no stranger to trouble, and the years since the end of the world had been difficult in more ways than one, but Sam had thought that things were getting better.
Jesus FUCK, that's just what's lying around for Supernatural! Do I even want to investigate my SGA folder?
*sighs*
Here goes nothing.
SGA eighties fic, yes dammit I AM still working on it, motherfucker!
John shivered with excitement and hurried through washing his hair with the shampoo someone had left there. Prell was okay, but the heavily chlorinated water always left him feeling vaguely sticky, even when he lathered twice.
Mike’s younger sister had some stuff from Australia that the two of them swore by, even though it was like, totally made from kangaroo paws or something. They had really nice hair, though, both of them, even if Mike totally was an asshole.
John wondered what kind of shampoo Rodney used.
Champagne Like Cherry Cola, Lorne / Parrish
“Well, this is . . . different,” Lorne said after he entered and Parrish handed him a glass containing a couple of inches of champagne. He sniffed it, and then took a cautious sip. “Tastes like cherry cola.”
GOD, NOT HOOKERFIC - I'm serious. That's what the file is called.
John Sheppard took his discharge papers and got on the first Greyhound bus he saw, too stunned to even notice the destination. The hearing had been perfunctory at best, the decision of the officer’s panel final.
They told him he was lucky to be keeping his rank, lucky to get off with a hefty fine that wiped out his back pay and most of his savings. He was lucky, they told him, that he wasn’t doing time in a military jail or an Afghani POW camp.
He was lucky, they said, that he’d never fly again.
Raining Like Tennessee Honey
After awhile, a long while of misery and a strange sort of growing complacence, as if it's customary -- no, normal, normal and ordinary for Rodney to feel all the time as if his internal organs had been removed with a rusty blade -- it occurs to him that perhaps giving up offworld missions was not the wisest course of action.
If he'd stayed with a team, any team that would have him, Rodney surely would have noticed Parrish in the fields before the man came up and touched his shoulder.
A Bird And A Fish In Love, McShep
When Rodney ends up with wings, Sheppard doesn’t speak to him for a *week*.
For the sake of completeness, let's add Smallville to the list, though frankly? The only one of these I've even glanced at lately is the historical one. I'd still really like to finish that. It's just sad and lonely to leave it hanging out in my journal all by its lonesome like this.
Poor little fic.
*weeps*
Clark vampire fic. And Buffy makes an appearance, too.
"I'm a . . . a vampire," he said aloud. It didn't sound right, so he tried again. "I'm a *vampire*."
He sighed. "I don't *feel* like a vampire."
Clark was confused and stressed and a little angry.
Well, so far, death was turning out to be a lot like life. This sucked.
The Griffin and The Falcon, Medieval CLex
Clark, predictably, blushed. “This is luftalking indeed,” he whispered. “I will think me at court to hearen such.”
Alexander drew his fingers through soft locks like black silk. “Dost thou wish me to play at chivalry and dalliance with thee?” he asked.
Clark dared to lean into Alexander’s body, nuzzling his hip and rubbing his cheek across the lush softness of his lord’s woolen tunic. “My liege, my luflych,” he moaned, “Wouldst I have thee teach me how best to please thee.”
Alexander closed his eyes and gritted his teeth against his body’s carnal urges. “Wouldst thou haf me take thee here?”
“Aye,” Clark agreed roughly. “Forby, I am thine at the time and place of thy choosing, be it thy manor or the tiltyard or the street before the very Church.”
Alexander could not prevent his wry chuckle. “Thou wouldst disagree, were thy father to espy thee thus, I trow,” he suggested.
Clark flushed ever darker and smiled brightly. “Aye,” he agreed. “But haps am I more than a little mad with love for thee.”
Alexander caressed Clark’s face, tracing the firm lines of brow and cheek and jaw. The boy turned into the gesture, his eyes falling shut, and a tiny mewling sound escaping his throat. “Grant merci,” he whispered.
Good Lord, that's a lot of WIPs! I bet there's people out there who are well ahead of me, though.