WIP previews
I've been working on three different fics in three very different fandoms recently, so I thought that sharing a bit would help my motivation.
Girl in the War (Silence of the Lambs, Clarice/Hannibal) [ sort-of-prequel to Catching Up with Old Cuts--how Clarice started her vigilante gig(tw for very vague mentions of child molestation)]
“And you say heʼs in Switzerland now?”
“He arrived this morning. Iʼve been tracking his movements in the unlikely case that he is keeping a similarly close eye on us.”
She stared at a crack in the striking blonde pine planks of the ceiling for a moment. They offered no dissent to the conclusion her mind was careening toward.
“How would...an interested party go about obtaining a firearm in Lausanne? Say, a nine millimeter Sig Sauer.”
“My, how quickly weʼve turned around. Has Agent Davis lost his right to due process so quickly?”
“Yeah, well. Thereʼs a difference between an innocent former coworker who might be a liability and a child-exploiting former coworker who might be a liability. That difference is mostly my willingness to pull the trigger.”
He nodded, and excused himself from the neat little kitchen. Clarice assumed he was going to make some calls; somehow, he always knew just who to call in order to get what he wanted. It was a bit like magic.
He returned, however, bare moments later with a small shopping bag from Hermès in his left hand.
She blinked.
“When did you go shopping?”
He hmmmed.
“Four days ago. You were studying French at that charming little café in you were so fond of Budapest, I believe.”
She accepted the bag from him without protest. Sheʼd considered protesting the frivolity if not the inappropriate timing, but he was always a step ahead.
“May I?”
“Please.”
She reached into the bag and pulled out...a utilitarian leather pouch. Or, well, utilitarian considering that it had probably cost as much as some cars sheʼd owned. Her heart stuttered a bit, so soaringly pleased at the way heʼd anticipated her wants and needs. She knew exactly what she would find inside before she slid the zipper open.
“This is exactly the model I wanted. How...”
untitled Pet Shop of Horrors fic (Pet Shop of Horrors, D/Leon)[wherein a mischievous (non-D) minor god fucks with D by granting Leon immortality]
Odaira-san takes his leave of D's shop, cage under his arm containing a splendid Rainbow Lorikeet that he certainly does not deserve by any stretch of the imagination. Half of D wants to dwell on the possible fate of his poor little friend, who had been such a bright presence in the shop . The other half, though...
Odaira-san had been extremely talkative. He'd heard much of D's reputation, apparently, and had felt unnaturally at ease confiding numerous details of his time abroad over a steaming cup of D's new favorite jasmine. He had an especial interest in detailing to D his exploits in Los Angeles, having apparently heard of his time there, and of the issues he'd had with the local police force.
D finds that something is threatening to bubble over within himself, now. There are certain truths he admits to himself freely, but the lives of his kind are very long and it does little good to dwell on that which would make that endless stretch of existence more difficult. For how many years has he, when confronted with his own desires, given in to that base instinct of flight?
In the end, he goes fifteen years before he succumbs to a moment of weakness. Fifteen years without a regular intruder into the quiet, subtle balance of life in his pet shop. Fifteen years without anyone to manhandle him and accuse him of every crime under the sun. Fifteen years without forming significant connection with any human being. In the grand scheme of a life that has already spanned a millennium, fifteen years should be nothing so much as the blink of an eye, but it has crept past at something akin to a sloth's pace.
Before he can consider for more than a moment the wisdom of his actions, or what his grandfather will think when he finds out, he finds himself reaching out with his consciousness and looking for that one human soul that he knows so well but has never really understood. Leon Orcot.
untitled Jun tabloid fic (Arashi, Aiba/Jun) [Jun gets outed in a tabloid--chaos ensues]
His dreams had always been of becoming a successful freelance photographer. Since his graduation, he had actively been searching for the story that would put his name out there and catch the public's eye. He'd been a bit too optimistic at first, hadn't thought that finding a scandal would be all that hard. After all, humans were corrupt creatures. How hard could it be to find the ones that people cared about being corrupt and scandalous? As it turned out, pretty damn hard. After another hard week of actively seeking out Tokyo's seedy underbelly, he was feeling a little tired of the business and more than a little disgusted with humanity. It was a Thursday afternoon during one of the stickiest Julys Tokyo had seen in years, and he sought shelter under the awning of the patio at his favorite Shimokitazawa cafe--not only could he justify to himself that he was still in a trendy area and likely to spot a celebrity, but Cafe Yuiko's iced coffees were little frozen bits of heaven.
The child at the table next to his had turned around in his seat and was in the process of shoving a carrot stick up his nose while intently maintaining eye contact. The visual was one he could do without. He gave the kid his best 'I am judging you, you strange, small individual' look and began making movements toward the street, drink in hand. The woman at the table with the terrifying child gasped, eyes going wide and hand fluttering up to cover her mouth.
"Goodness, is that Matsumoto Jun?"
Yohei had his camera up and positioned before he even turned around.
Girl in the War (Silence of the Lambs, Clarice/Hannibal) [ sort-of-prequel to Catching Up with Old Cuts--how Clarice started her vigilante gig(tw for very vague mentions of child molestation)]
“And you say heʼs in Switzerland now?”
“He arrived this morning. Iʼve been tracking his movements in the unlikely case that he is keeping a similarly close eye on us.”
She stared at a crack in the striking blonde pine planks of the ceiling for a moment. They offered no dissent to the conclusion her mind was careening toward.
“How would...an interested party go about obtaining a firearm in Lausanne? Say, a nine millimeter Sig Sauer.”
“My, how quickly weʼve turned around. Has Agent Davis lost his right to due process so quickly?”
“Yeah, well. Thereʼs a difference between an innocent former coworker who might be a liability and a child-exploiting former coworker who might be a liability. That difference is mostly my willingness to pull the trigger.”
He nodded, and excused himself from the neat little kitchen. Clarice assumed he was going to make some calls; somehow, he always knew just who to call in order to get what he wanted. It was a bit like magic.
He returned, however, bare moments later with a small shopping bag from Hermès in his left hand.
She blinked.
“When did you go shopping?”
He hmmmed.
“Four days ago. You were studying French at that charming little café in you were so fond of Budapest, I believe.”
She accepted the bag from him without protest. Sheʼd considered protesting the frivolity if not the inappropriate timing, but he was always a step ahead.
“May I?”
“Please.”
She reached into the bag and pulled out...a utilitarian leather pouch. Or, well, utilitarian considering that it had probably cost as much as some cars sheʼd owned. Her heart stuttered a bit, so soaringly pleased at the way heʼd anticipated her wants and needs. She knew exactly what she would find inside before she slid the zipper open.
“This is exactly the model I wanted. How...”
untitled Pet Shop of Horrors fic (Pet Shop of Horrors, D/Leon)[wherein a mischievous (non-D) minor god fucks with D by granting Leon immortality]
Odaira-san takes his leave of D's shop, cage under his arm containing a splendid Rainbow Lorikeet that he certainly does not deserve by any stretch of the imagination. Half of D wants to dwell on the possible fate of his poor little friend, who had been such a bright presence in the shop . The other half, though...
Odaira-san had been extremely talkative. He'd heard much of D's reputation, apparently, and had felt unnaturally at ease confiding numerous details of his time abroad over a steaming cup of D's new favorite jasmine. He had an especial interest in detailing to D his exploits in Los Angeles, having apparently heard of his time there, and of the issues he'd had with the local police force.
D finds that something is threatening to bubble over within himself, now. There are certain truths he admits to himself freely, but the lives of his kind are very long and it does little good to dwell on that which would make that endless stretch of existence more difficult. For how many years has he, when confronted with his own desires, given in to that base instinct of flight?
In the end, he goes fifteen years before he succumbs to a moment of weakness. Fifteen years without a regular intruder into the quiet, subtle balance of life in his pet shop. Fifteen years without anyone to manhandle him and accuse him of every crime under the sun. Fifteen years without forming significant connection with any human being. In the grand scheme of a life that has already spanned a millennium, fifteen years should be nothing so much as the blink of an eye, but it has crept past at something akin to a sloth's pace.
Before he can consider for more than a moment the wisdom of his actions, or what his grandfather will think when he finds out, he finds himself reaching out with his consciousness and looking for that one human soul that he knows so well but has never really understood. Leon Orcot.
untitled Jun tabloid fic (Arashi, Aiba/Jun) [Jun gets outed in a tabloid--chaos ensues]
His dreams had always been of becoming a successful freelance photographer. Since his graduation, he had actively been searching for the story that would put his name out there and catch the public's eye. He'd been a bit too optimistic at first, hadn't thought that finding a scandal would be all that hard. After all, humans were corrupt creatures. How hard could it be to find the ones that people cared about being corrupt and scandalous? As it turned out, pretty damn hard. After another hard week of actively seeking out Tokyo's seedy underbelly, he was feeling a little tired of the business and more than a little disgusted with humanity. It was a Thursday afternoon during one of the stickiest Julys Tokyo had seen in years, and he sought shelter under the awning of the patio at his favorite Shimokitazawa cafe--not only could he justify to himself that he was still in a trendy area and likely to spot a celebrity, but Cafe Yuiko's iced coffees were little frozen bits of heaven.
The child at the table next to his had turned around in his seat and was in the process of shoving a carrot stick up his nose while intently maintaining eye contact. The visual was one he could do without. He gave the kid his best 'I am judging you, you strange, small individual' look and began making movements toward the street, drink in hand. The woman at the table with the terrifying child gasped, eyes going wide and hand fluttering up to cover her mouth.
"Goodness, is that Matsumoto Jun?"
Yohei had his camera up and positioned before he even turned around.