that wip meme
seen a bunch of places, and thus i think i've been enabled.... i can totally find some way to blame this on someone else. :D
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 favourite 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).
sadly, for most of these, what's written here is all there is. i don't do very well writing in stages. sometimes i'll carry a couple of lines or a scene in my head before i write it down, so that's what most of these are - the lines that have been percolating in my head waiting to be written into an actual fic. feel free to poke and prod and pester, but be warned i might poke back. :D
supernatural
dean and the geekgirl:
She looks up and up again and damn, they grow them tall out here.
"Y'all want something?" she asks.
"Sorry to bother you," the taller one says, "we're from the gas company and we have reason to believe there's a leak - "
"You're from where?" Not only are they growing up tall, they're growing up dumb. Her house has oil heat, and the stove's electric. All the houses this end of the road are oil. They tell her they're from Georgia Gas, they're out of here. And if they don't want to leave or at least tell her the truth, she knows how to fire the shotgun she keeps in the kitchen.
gun zen:
There's always something to do with your downtime. If you're working a job, there's research, of course, or checking out the neighborhood, or making nice with the locals, or eating, doing laundry, working on the car, chatting up the cute waitress at the diner, trying to keep in shape, testing all the coffeeshops for good coffee, and tormenting your brother almost to the point where he smothers you in your sleep. If you're between jobs, you can look for a job, drive aimlessly, drive with purpose, hustle, eat, do your laundry, work on the car, and everything else you might do if you were still working.
And of course you can always clean your guns.
this is not the way your world ends:
We know he thought you hung the moon. He thought the sun rose and set on your head. And who could blame him? You've been holding him up since he was six months old. When he learned to walk, it was holding your hand. You babysat him when your father was hunting and you were too young to go along, and you let him eat cereal out of the box and watch the midnight creature feature on TV. You made his lunch and tried to help him with his homework - he was better at languages but you were better at math and you both surprised your teachers with the odd combination of holy and obscene Latin that you'd practiced on each other. Your father taught you how to care for the guns but you taught your brother how to sharpen knives and how to throw a punch, and you lined up old cans and bottles on Joshua’s back fence and held his seven-year-old hands to absorb some of the kickback from your father's .45. You teased him and pulled pranks on him and kicked his seat when he called shotgun and you had to ride in the back, and you went to soccer games and school plays and couldn't quite hide how good you thought he looked in his rented prom tuxedo.
the county fair fic:
In the parking lot, a kid with an Iron Maiden t-shirt and grease under his fingernails asks John a lot of questions about the Impala, which John answers reluctantly - there’s no way he’s going to pop the trunk for a total stranger, not with the shotgun and the pistols, the boxes of ammo and rock salt and the little vials of holy water buried under the duffels and sleeping bags - until he learns that the kid’s a car buff, works at a garage and in his spare time is trying to restore his uncle’s ’68 Mustang. His uncle did a year in Vietnam, the kid says, ’70-71, but it fucked with his head, and he killed himself a couple years back.
John wouldn’t mind talking to the kid about cars - still won’t open the trunk, but he does pop the hood - but Sam and Dean are getting restless and want to see the fair NOW.
ot4
the sequel to this:
The next time Daniel wakes up, he's alone in his room and the offending chicken soup and screwdriver have been removed. He's grateful for the second thing but not sure how he feels about the first. Not surprised, mostly, and not cramped. Nash hates people squished up against him when he's asleep, and in Daniel's single student bed it's a little hard to make room for another person without touching him.
He feels a little better, or at least a little less likely to die in the next few hours, and thinks maybe he should get out of bed and eat something. He wants to brush his teeth and take some Tylenol, anyway.
the radio show:
"Hey Mom. I, uh, I have some bad news."
"...Did you get fired?"
"What? No! Nash blew up the kitchen."
amy's wedding:
"Nash!" Neil yells from the other room.
"Neil!" Nash yells back.
"How does this thing go on?"
"Wrap it around yourself, buckle it, and pin it."
"It doesn't look right. And I can't find the pin. Megan? Have you seen my kilt pin?"
"It should be pinned to the kilt," she calls over her shoulder, coming into Nash and Daniel's room and looking Nash up and down. "Well don't you look Scottish. Please tell me you're wearing something underneath that." Nash flips up the front of the kilt, flashing her, and she puts her hand over her face and sighs a long-suffering sigh. "This shouldn't surprise me. Amy will be thrilled and Daniel will be embarrassed, both of which I'm sure are the point. Can you at least keep it out of the bridesmaids?"
"If I did that, I wouldn't be me." At her annoyed look, he pats her cheek and says "Don't worry, Lillian, I'll behave."
She sighs again. She's not sure her definition of "behave" and Nash's definition of "behave" are the same thing.
katie's wedding:
"Don't you think he's a little old to still be dyeing his hair?" Allie comments, watching Nash dance with Carrie. Neither one of them looks like they know what they're doing, but they're both clearly having fun. Megan looks at her sister, at Allie's artistically-colored but still vaguely artificial-looking highlights, and grins.
sam and aurelian
untitled for cicirossi:
One of the downsides to having an undead boyfriend with a sun allergy is that when your band gets a busking license for the summer, he can't come see you play. Of course, he can't watch you embarrass yourself in the amateur basketball league Teddy talked you into joining, either, and that's not such a bad thing.
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 favourite 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).
sadly, for most of these, what's written here is all there is. i don't do very well writing in stages. sometimes i'll carry a couple of lines or a scene in my head before i write it down, so that's what most of these are - the lines that have been percolating in my head waiting to be written into an actual fic. feel free to poke and prod and pester, but be warned i might poke back. :D
supernatural
dean and the geekgirl:
She looks up and up again and damn, they grow them tall out here.
"Y'all want something?" she asks.
"Sorry to bother you," the taller one says, "we're from the gas company and we have reason to believe there's a leak - "
"You're from where?" Not only are they growing up tall, they're growing up dumb. Her house has oil heat, and the stove's electric. All the houses this end of the road are oil. They tell her they're from Georgia Gas, they're out of here. And if they don't want to leave or at least tell her the truth, she knows how to fire the shotgun she keeps in the kitchen.
gun zen:
There's always something to do with your downtime. If you're working a job, there's research, of course, or checking out the neighborhood, or making nice with the locals, or eating, doing laundry, working on the car, chatting up the cute waitress at the diner, trying to keep in shape, testing all the coffeeshops for good coffee, and tormenting your brother almost to the point where he smothers you in your sleep. If you're between jobs, you can look for a job, drive aimlessly, drive with purpose, hustle, eat, do your laundry, work on the car, and everything else you might do if you were still working.
And of course you can always clean your guns.
this is not the way your world ends:
We know he thought you hung the moon. He thought the sun rose and set on your head. And who could blame him? You've been holding him up since he was six months old. When he learned to walk, it was holding your hand. You babysat him when your father was hunting and you were too young to go along, and you let him eat cereal out of the box and watch the midnight creature feature on TV. You made his lunch and tried to help him with his homework - he was better at languages but you were better at math and you both surprised your teachers with the odd combination of holy and obscene Latin that you'd practiced on each other. Your father taught you how to care for the guns but you taught your brother how to sharpen knives and how to throw a punch, and you lined up old cans and bottles on Joshua’s back fence and held his seven-year-old hands to absorb some of the kickback from your father's .45. You teased him and pulled pranks on him and kicked his seat when he called shotgun and you had to ride in the back, and you went to soccer games and school plays and couldn't quite hide how good you thought he looked in his rented prom tuxedo.
the county fair fic:
In the parking lot, a kid with an Iron Maiden t-shirt and grease under his fingernails asks John a lot of questions about the Impala, which John answers reluctantly - there’s no way he’s going to pop the trunk for a total stranger, not with the shotgun and the pistols, the boxes of ammo and rock salt and the little vials of holy water buried under the duffels and sleeping bags - until he learns that the kid’s a car buff, works at a garage and in his spare time is trying to restore his uncle’s ’68 Mustang. His uncle did a year in Vietnam, the kid says, ’70-71, but it fucked with his head, and he killed himself a couple years back.
John wouldn’t mind talking to the kid about cars - still won’t open the trunk, but he does pop the hood - but Sam and Dean are getting restless and want to see the fair NOW.
ot4
the sequel to this:
The next time Daniel wakes up, he's alone in his room and the offending chicken soup and screwdriver have been removed. He's grateful for the second thing but not sure how he feels about the first. Not surprised, mostly, and not cramped. Nash hates people squished up against him when he's asleep, and in Daniel's single student bed it's a little hard to make room for another person without touching him.
He feels a little better, or at least a little less likely to die in the next few hours, and thinks maybe he should get out of bed and eat something. He wants to brush his teeth and take some Tylenol, anyway.
the radio show:
"Hey Mom. I, uh, I have some bad news."
"...Did you get fired?"
"What? No! Nash blew up the kitchen."
amy's wedding:
"Nash!" Neil yells from the other room.
"Neil!" Nash yells back.
"How does this thing go on?"
"Wrap it around yourself, buckle it, and pin it."
"It doesn't look right. And I can't find the pin. Megan? Have you seen my kilt pin?"
"It should be pinned to the kilt," she calls over her shoulder, coming into Nash and Daniel's room and looking Nash up and down. "Well don't you look Scottish. Please tell me you're wearing something underneath that." Nash flips up the front of the kilt, flashing her, and she puts her hand over her face and sighs a long-suffering sigh. "This shouldn't surprise me. Amy will be thrilled and Daniel will be embarrassed, both of which I'm sure are the point. Can you at least keep it out of the bridesmaids?"
"If I did that, I wouldn't be me." At her annoyed look, he pats her cheek and says "Don't worry, Lillian, I'll behave."
She sighs again. She's not sure her definition of "behave" and Nash's definition of "behave" are the same thing.
katie's wedding:
"Don't you think he's a little old to still be dyeing his hair?" Allie comments, watching Nash dance with Carrie. Neither one of them looks like they know what they're doing, but they're both clearly having fun. Megan looks at her sister, at Allie's artistically-colored but still vaguely artificial-looking highlights, and grins.
sam and aurelian
untitled for cicirossi:
One of the downsides to having an undead boyfriend with a sun allergy is that when your band gets a busking license for the summer, he can't come see you play. Of course, he can't watch you embarrass yourself in the amateur basketball league Teddy talked you into joining, either, and that's not such a bad thing.