A writing meme, stolen from the lovely brynnamorgan
If you happen to be working on some creative writing project, fanfiction or NaNoWriMo or what have you, post exactly one sentence (or more) from each of your current work(s) in progress in your journal. It should probably be your favorite or most intriguing sentence so far, but what you choose is entirely your discretion. Mention the title (and genre) if you like, but don't mention anything else -- this is merely to whet the general appetite for your forthcoming work(s).
I won’t quote anything from my H/Cam ficathon fic, since I don’t want to give anything away at this point. Surprises, me likey. But the others:
House fandom: from Trust & Control 7: Expanding Horizons: (smut!fic, obviously)
( I can’t stop myself, I have to post a whole damn paragraph or two…)
Relationships are more than just sex and Chinese take-out. I’ll bet you’ve never even taken Cameron out for a night on the town. Too worried someone from PPTH might spot you. And then your secret would be out.
It was true, of course. Yeah, it wasn’t just sex, and it wasn’t just Chinese take-out. But not much else. He did tend to linger around his apartment. Hell, he’d rarely even set foot in hers - too many stairs to navigate. They ordered-in more than just Chinese, but House wasn’t going to delude himself into thinking that was enough ‘variety’ to last them for years.
Their bedroom repertoire, too, while being decidedly less vanilla and boring than most peoples’, wasn’t going to cut it, if that’s all they did. Going out to eat, going to movies, going to monster truck rallies and to blues clubs and to rock concerts, that’s what normal couples did, and in all the months they’d been involved, none of this sort of thing had happened. He wasn’t, he had to admit to himself, much of a catch, crippled and grumpy as he was. The fact their kinks dovetailed was only going to carry this so far.
So, he started to plot. To plan. There had to be a way around the basic problem. If I can solve puzzling medical cases with relative ease compared to Dull Normal Doctors, how hard can this be?
Supernatural fandom: from Five Ways John Winchester Didn’t Get Laid, Ch. 2: (smut!fic, of course)
She scrambles out the door ahead of him, and they keep going, slowed only by his knee. He directs them both to his truck, waiting until they’re both in the cab to take stock of any new injuries. He checks her first. She didn’t get hit by any rock-salt, thankfully. Her clothes are history, though. “Are you hurt? Did it get a chance to-?” he doesn’t know how to phrase it delicately.
“No. But…” she looks down at herself, embarrassed. Her clothes have been reduced to long rags, and John can see entirely too much pale, soft skin. He jerks his eyes away, remembering belatedly that there’s an old blanket stuffed behind the driver’s seat. He grabs it and shakes the grit and dust off, before handing it to Casey. It’s a garment hardly befitting a lady, but at least it’ll protect her modesty.
He turns his attention to checking himself out. His knee and shoulder have already reported in, and they ain’t happy. More bruises and abrasions from his high-speed introduction to the wall the second time. And his head still aches. It’s a trip to the hospital for him, he reluctantly decides
At least he’ll be telling the truth, partially, this time - he fell down some stairs.
Supernatural fandom: Really tentative, but: from Five Ways John Winchester Didn’t Get Laid, Ch. 3: (still a smut!fic)
He got himself a room. Higher-brow than his normal motel rooms, but that was part of it. He ignored the raised eyebrow of the concierge. An extra fifty, and the guy was falling over himself to please John. Hell, John had even allowed a valet to park the truck. Part of the promise to himself.
There, I think that's the lot. ;)
**starhawk**
I won’t quote anything from my H/Cam ficathon fic, since I don’t want to give anything away at this point. Surprises, me likey. But the others:
House fandom: from Trust & Control 7: Expanding Horizons: (smut!fic, obviously)
( I can’t stop myself, I have to post a whole damn paragraph or two…)
Relationships are more than just sex and Chinese take-out. I’ll bet you’ve never even taken Cameron out for a night on the town. Too worried someone from PPTH might spot you. And then your secret would be out.
It was true, of course. Yeah, it wasn’t just sex, and it wasn’t just Chinese take-out. But not much else. He did tend to linger around his apartment. Hell, he’d rarely even set foot in hers - too many stairs to navigate. They ordered-in more than just Chinese, but House wasn’t going to delude himself into thinking that was enough ‘variety’ to last them for years.
Their bedroom repertoire, too, while being decidedly less vanilla and boring than most peoples’, wasn’t going to cut it, if that’s all they did. Going out to eat, going to movies, going to monster truck rallies and to blues clubs and to rock concerts, that’s what normal couples did, and in all the months they’d been involved, none of this sort of thing had happened. He wasn’t, he had to admit to himself, much of a catch, crippled and grumpy as he was. The fact their kinks dovetailed was only going to carry this so far.
So, he started to plot. To plan. There had to be a way around the basic problem. If I can solve puzzling medical cases with relative ease compared to Dull Normal Doctors, how hard can this be?
Supernatural fandom: from Five Ways John Winchester Didn’t Get Laid, Ch. 2: (smut!fic, of course)
She scrambles out the door ahead of him, and they keep going, slowed only by his knee. He directs them both to his truck, waiting until they’re both in the cab to take stock of any new injuries. He checks her first. She didn’t get hit by any rock-salt, thankfully. Her clothes are history, though. “Are you hurt? Did it get a chance to-?” he doesn’t know how to phrase it delicately.
“No. But…” she looks down at herself, embarrassed. Her clothes have been reduced to long rags, and John can see entirely too much pale, soft skin. He jerks his eyes away, remembering belatedly that there’s an old blanket stuffed behind the driver’s seat. He grabs it and shakes the grit and dust off, before handing it to Casey. It’s a garment hardly befitting a lady, but at least it’ll protect her modesty.
He turns his attention to checking himself out. His knee and shoulder have already reported in, and they ain’t happy. More bruises and abrasions from his high-speed introduction to the wall the second time. And his head still aches. It’s a trip to the hospital for him, he reluctantly decides
At least he’ll be telling the truth, partially, this time - he fell down some stairs.
Supernatural fandom: Really tentative, but: from Five Ways John Winchester Didn’t Get Laid, Ch. 3: (still a smut!fic)
He got himself a room. Higher-brow than his normal motel rooms, but that was part of it. He ignored the raised eyebrow of the concierge. An extra fifty, and the guy was falling over himself to please John. Hell, John had even allowed a valet to park the truck. Part of the promise to himself.
There, I think that's the lot. ;)
**starhawk**