Writing Meme
poetic_self made this kind of writing meme a couple of days ago:
Give me a picture (any picture) and a name or/and pairing and I'll write you something based on them. It can be one sentence or 1000 words, whatever my muse sings. I will write anything from any of the fandoms I've written fic so far (See my ficlisting) plus I can try my hand at Supernatural ( Read more... )
Give me a picture (any picture) and a name or/and pairing and I'll write you something based on them. It can be one sentence or 1000 words, whatever my muse sings. I will write anything from any of the fandoms I've written fic so far (See my ficlisting) plus I can try my hand at Supernatural ( Read more... )
Comments 13
I am an inspiration, how wonderful :)
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Roadtrips were Viggo’s favourite hobby for the illusion of absolute freedom the passing landscapes created. The art was his life, never leisure. When Viggo travelled alone he often hitchhiked, not as much as he used to, but he preferred it to the greyhounds or driving in his own car. He loved meeting new people, all ages, shapes and sizes. These were his private journeys for gathering stories and moods, he later transformed into wordplays and images. But the person he was now having breakfast with and the black gentle dog lying at their feet under the table were special. When the young man spoke he was vivid and sweet, but when he wasn’t the object of the attention his eyes were the most doleful ( ... )
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Thank you for letting me peak into your - and their - roadtrip. I know some stories won't ever be finished, but I will think of this one some more, I am sure.
♥ thanks ♥
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Tomorrow afternoon, I believe I'll be able to chat. :)
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//There is too much cheeriness in the spring green pastures of Montana. Reminds him of England. A bucolic innocence that he crudely intrudes, a city man in a rumpled suit, five o’clock shadow, and a split lip. He feels like too much scotch and too much smoke, cheap perfume, a rasp in the throat, sweat and spunk on his skin.
But there has been no party; just empty containers in an abandoned fertilizer factory accompanying yards of cold floor still smelling of industrial bleach to wake up on. His knuckles were torn, and the coagulated blood peeled off in flecks when he banged his fist into the coarse cement of the closest wall. He chose to remember a black out.
As he walked to his car, he could feel the soreness, a stretch deep below his spine that belied a denial of it happening ever again. He pressed hard fingertips on scrapes across his cheek, concentrated on the sting, and nothing else ( ... )
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Anyway. It's a PERFECT little ficlet. You say so much with so few words. It is the first thing i read in the morning and you should have heard me issue a satisfactory moan! And the last line is a killer. You did not nead to sweat out the dialogue, I love it w/o one!
Btw...maybe I can suggest another pic, to make ...en ensemble?
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Now the text.
I tried twice, but it just won´t show.
Anyway.
The pic is the same pic I just posted in my journal.
Go check it out.
*Loves madly*
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I'm very sorry, love. I have no idea who that guy is. :/ Or is he just some random guy you want me to slash with whomever I can come up with? With the pic prompts I was thinking more pics of places or inaminate objects etc, and then you'd give me a name of a character or a real person that I'd know even a bit. But if you like I could take a real person I know and then have him meet this guy if you like. :)
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*is waiting excited*
♥ for my sistersoul.
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