taken from everyone and their granny
3/28/12 11:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyBehold! I follow like a sheep!
1. Go to page 7 (or 77) of your current WIP.
2. Go to line 7
3. Copy down the next 7 lines – sentences or paragraphs – and post them as they’re written.
I have several that I'm working on at the moment. It feels weird to do all this work and not post anything. Except for my SpNBB, now called The Loners,(woo-hoo, title!) everything moves at the speed of glaciers but! Working, hello! *high fives self*
1. Come the Night (shameless pimping thereof)
"Oh, it's voluntary…" she shrugs in a way that widens his eyes. It was a pretty sight and Dean was beginning to feel like it'd been centuries since he'd been anywhere near something like that. A little corner of his mind was yelling at him, but he paid it no mind. "I want you to come see me though…after work. Maybe I can help you…you can definitely help me," she purrs.
Dean kind of grins back. Looks like he's just been signed on to gigolo duty all voluntary-like…sure. Not that it'll be much of a hardship, just—why the hell pick him? What the fuck is so interesting about him?
He's dismissed and back on his way to Angel, dissecting the incident. The bitch was nuts. Dean knew, he talked a decent line of bullshit and there was always some loser who was going to fall for it, but he had no illusions about himself. He'd pulled one--maybe two--great, smart, too good for him chicks in his whole life…plus Sam. Brilliant, hot, sexy, all of them, and all of them with a big blind spot where Dean Winchester was concerned. Cassie came to her senses, Lisa never got a chance to know him well enough to dump him, and Sam…Dean bit his lip. Maybe the thing that was wrong about Sam, was Sam's big brother.
~o0o~
"Dean! Fuck, what a day. Domini, I thought I was going to put a knife through that fuck's head today. Head chef," he explains at Dean's quirked eyebrow. "Spent all day over the spit and hot!—those cook tents are hot. Hey, did I thank you again for saving me from broiling in the sun, thanks a fucking lot, it's so much better drowning in my own sweat."
He's carrying a bulging bag that he drops on a scrounged table pushed against one side of the tent. Jabbers away as he pulls wrapped bread and meat out of the bag, along with some pieces of fruit that he lays on a plate and proceeds to cut soft spots out of. He talks on a bit more before he finally realizes that Dean hasn't said a word, hasn't snagged anything from the table, and wasn't telling him to shut up. He puts down the knife, fixes Dean with his green-brown stare. "What?"
"Ah…Angel, dude…" Dean rubs the back of his neck. "How much longer we gotta stay here? I mean, when's that petition thing starting up? I'd kinda like to leave…soon, y'know…."
When Angel answers him, his voice is heavy with patience, sounds like he's just this side of leading off with 'You idiot'. "Dean. Give a week, maybe more, the petitioners' caravan will be heading to Chronopolis. From there, if we make it through Court, we go to Dys. It's the best way to avoid slavers, demons, pirates—we talked about this, it's the best way. Safest."
2. Frequency inspired J2
He knew he was kind of different. He liked pink and sparkles and bracelets and loved New Kids and Keanu Reeve and thought that one day he'd move to San Francisco maybe or some place where it wouldn't be odd for him to wear sandals and paint his toenails and no one would say, JT, oh my god, you go change 'cause you're not leaving the house like that.
JR was pretty cool about all of it and even though quite a bit must have seemed odd, all JT can imagine is that JR took a vow to be his friend no matter what and…here they were, best friends forever.
~J2J~
JT stared at himself in the hall mirror, pulled his hair back from his face and stared long and hard at his reflection, looking…"Momma, do you think…there's anything wrong with me?" His momma was hanging her handbag on the hook and she just froze, back straight as a stick. She turned and gave him a smile that was kind of scary, it was so stiff.
"Now JT, why would you even ask that?"
"Because people always pick at the way I act or the way I dress or the way I talk. They don't seem to like me much when I'm not with JR."
"You have your own sense of style, JT. Lots of people do. It's okay to be yourself. Just…some people aren't going to like it. You know that."
JT nodded. "That's what Daddy says. He says ignore them because they're fat-headed idiots."
"Well, sometimes even Daddy's smart. So, what, you plan on working your way through the family asking questions?"
3. We Used To Be The Loners
Jared liked it. He liked the way the summer sounds floated on the air like soap bubbles, how the sounds stretched and rolled and changed and made the space between their words seem deeper. He pushed through the comfortable haze and focused on Jensen. Now he wanted to listen to something more important than the sound of the everyday world—he wanted to hear something that really mattered: Jensen talking, Jensen breathing.
Jared kicked it into gear and caught up with his friend, breathed in his scent not because he was some kind of weirdo, but because Jenz was right there and it couldn't be helped. Drew in the smell of sweat and cheap detergent, warm skin and fried grease. Jensen glanced over and did that thing he did, smiled with his eyes like it was a private thing between the two of them. Jared knew it wasn't—he smiled like that at all of them, but at least it was only the Loners who got to see it.
It was shaping up to be a comfortable day, the kind of day nothing could screw up. Of course, he wasn't factoring in the Rosenbaum Effect….
"Jay…" Mike said in his thoughtful voice, which generally meant that he was about to piss Jared the hell off…"Jay," Mike repeated, squinting up at Jared. "Why couldn't he throw hand grenades at the wendigio? He coulda thrown 'em down the tunnel--"
"Wendi-go," Tommy corrected, and went on with, "Well, I think he should have shot the thing, and then it should have exploded—"
"Yeah, yeah—or no, he coulda thrown a hand grenade in its mouth an' then shot it and then it shoulda exploded—"
"That's not how it works," Jared yelled and yanked his bike across the shoulder, spraying gravel and dust. "They're my stories and there is no exploding, for fuck's sake! Fire kills them!"
Untitled Dean Story Thingy
A throat tearing shout, an ultimatum, the slap of a screen door and it was done. Sam was gone.
2 "I'll meet up with you in three days. Phoenix. Let me tell you what the job's about…."
Halfway through the second day, Dad called to say he'd be late. "No problem," Dean had grunted between clenched teeth, and it took less than a minute to convince dad he was fine. He'd hung up and peeled the sopping hand towel away from the punctures under his arm pit and sighed. He'd hitched out of his jeans and ripped what was left of his shirts away, stepped bare-ass into the tub and started dumping peroxide into his wounds. The fizzing distracted him for a few minutes. He hissed and poured—the shit was freezing. He emptied one bottle, opened another and poured. He stopped, grabbed the glass of everclear he'd set on the toilet tank and sipped—so strong it wouldn't let you gulp, and that was good. That was what he needed. He took a shower after, patted the wounds down with peroxide-soaked gauze.
Walked over to the bed, took out his phone and dialed Sam.
'Hey Sam, how ya doin'? Imma little drunk…" he stopped, breathed for a bit and hung up.
Later, Dean thought of that night as the point he kind of started to slide downwards, a bit.
3 "I'm going to be delayed. Hooked up with Elias Lsigny—Walt and Roy's dad, you remember—poltergeist in that bar last year? Or was it the year before…anyway, check out our drop box in Portland. Got a possible job. You check it out and see what you think. "
1. Go to page 7 (or 77) of your current WIP.
2. Go to line 7
3. Copy down the next 7 lines – sentences or paragraphs – and post them as they’re written.
I have several that I'm working on at the moment. It feels weird to do all this work and not post anything. Except for my SpNBB, now called The Loners,(woo-hoo, title!) everything moves at the speed of glaciers but! Working, hello! *high fives self*
1. Come the Night (shameless pimping thereof)
"Oh, it's voluntary…" she shrugs in a way that widens his eyes. It was a pretty sight and Dean was beginning to feel like it'd been centuries since he'd been anywhere near something like that. A little corner of his mind was yelling at him, but he paid it no mind. "I want you to come see me though…after work. Maybe I can help you…you can definitely help me," she purrs.
Dean kind of grins back. Looks like he's just been signed on to gigolo duty all voluntary-like…sure. Not that it'll be much of a hardship, just—why the hell pick him? What the fuck is so interesting about him?
He's dismissed and back on his way to Angel, dissecting the incident. The bitch was nuts. Dean knew, he talked a decent line of bullshit and there was always some loser who was going to fall for it, but he had no illusions about himself. He'd pulled one--maybe two--great, smart, too good for him chicks in his whole life…plus Sam. Brilliant, hot, sexy, all of them, and all of them with a big blind spot where Dean Winchester was concerned. Cassie came to her senses, Lisa never got a chance to know him well enough to dump him, and Sam…Dean bit his lip. Maybe the thing that was wrong about Sam, was Sam's big brother.
"Dean! Fuck, what a day. Domini, I thought I was going to put a knife through that fuck's head today. Head chef," he explains at Dean's quirked eyebrow. "Spent all day over the spit and hot!—those cook tents are hot. Hey, did I thank you again for saving me from broiling in the sun, thanks a fucking lot, it's so much better drowning in my own sweat."
He's carrying a bulging bag that he drops on a scrounged table pushed against one side of the tent. Jabbers away as he pulls wrapped bread and meat out of the bag, along with some pieces of fruit that he lays on a plate and proceeds to cut soft spots out of. He talks on a bit more before he finally realizes that Dean hasn't said a word, hasn't snagged anything from the table, and wasn't telling him to shut up. He puts down the knife, fixes Dean with his green-brown stare. "What?"
"Ah…Angel, dude…" Dean rubs the back of his neck. "How much longer we gotta stay here? I mean, when's that petition thing starting up? I'd kinda like to leave…soon, y'know…."
When Angel answers him, his voice is heavy with patience, sounds like he's just this side of leading off with 'You idiot'. "Dean. Give a week, maybe more, the petitioners' caravan will be heading to Chronopolis. From there, if we make it through Court, we go to Dys. It's the best way to avoid slavers, demons, pirates—we talked about this, it's the best way. Safest."
2. Frequency inspired J2
He knew he was kind of different. He liked pink and sparkles and bracelets and loved New Kids and Keanu Reeve and thought that one day he'd move to San Francisco maybe or some place where it wouldn't be odd for him to wear sandals and paint his toenails and no one would say, JT, oh my god, you go change 'cause you're not leaving the house like that.
JR was pretty cool about all of it and even though quite a bit must have seemed odd, all JT can imagine is that JR took a vow to be his friend no matter what and…here they were, best friends forever.
JT stared at himself in the hall mirror, pulled his hair back from his face and stared long and hard at his reflection, looking…"Momma, do you think…there's anything wrong with me?" His momma was hanging her handbag on the hook and she just froze, back straight as a stick. She turned and gave him a smile that was kind of scary, it was so stiff.
"Now JT, why would you even ask that?"
"Because people always pick at the way I act or the way I dress or the way I talk. They don't seem to like me much when I'm not with JR."
"You have your own sense of style, JT. Lots of people do. It's okay to be yourself. Just…some people aren't going to like it. You know that."
JT nodded. "That's what Daddy says. He says ignore them because they're fat-headed idiots."
"Well, sometimes even Daddy's smart. So, what, you plan on working your way through the family asking questions?"
3. We Used To Be The Loners
Jared liked it. He liked the way the summer sounds floated on the air like soap bubbles, how the sounds stretched and rolled and changed and made the space between their words seem deeper. He pushed through the comfortable haze and focused on Jensen. Now he wanted to listen to something more important than the sound of the everyday world—he wanted to hear something that really mattered: Jensen talking, Jensen breathing.
Jared kicked it into gear and caught up with his friend, breathed in his scent not because he was some kind of weirdo, but because Jenz was right there and it couldn't be helped. Drew in the smell of sweat and cheap detergent, warm skin and fried grease. Jensen glanced over and did that thing he did, smiled with his eyes like it was a private thing between the two of them. Jared knew it wasn't—he smiled like that at all of them, but at least it was only the Loners who got to see it.
It was shaping up to be a comfortable day, the kind of day nothing could screw up. Of course, he wasn't factoring in the Rosenbaum Effect….
"Jay…" Mike said in his thoughtful voice, which generally meant that he was about to piss Jared the hell off…"Jay," Mike repeated, squinting up at Jared. "Why couldn't he throw hand grenades at the wendigio? He coulda thrown 'em down the tunnel--"
"Wendi-go," Tommy corrected, and went on with, "Well, I think he should have shot the thing, and then it should have exploded—"
"Yeah, yeah—or no, he coulda thrown a hand grenade in its mouth an' then shot it and then it shoulda exploded—"
"That's not how it works," Jared yelled and yanked his bike across the shoulder, spraying gravel and dust. "They're my stories and there is no exploding, for fuck's sake! Fire kills them!"
Untitled Dean Story Thingy
A throat tearing shout, an ultimatum, the slap of a screen door and it was done. Sam was gone.
2 "I'll meet up with you in three days. Phoenix. Let me tell you what the job's about…."
Halfway through the second day, Dad called to say he'd be late. "No problem," Dean had grunted between clenched teeth, and it took less than a minute to convince dad he was fine. He'd hung up and peeled the sopping hand towel away from the punctures under his arm pit and sighed. He'd hitched out of his jeans and ripped what was left of his shirts away, stepped bare-ass into the tub and started dumping peroxide into his wounds. The fizzing distracted him for a few minutes. He hissed and poured—the shit was freezing. He emptied one bottle, opened another and poured. He stopped, grabbed the glass of everclear he'd set on the toilet tank and sipped—so strong it wouldn't let you gulp, and that was good. That was what he needed. He took a shower after, patted the wounds down with peroxide-soaked gauze.
Walked over to the bed, took out his phone and dialed Sam.
'Hey Sam, how ya doin'? Imma little drunk…" he stopped, breathed for a bit and hung up.
Later, Dean thought of that night as the point he kind of started to slide downwards, a bit.
3 "I'm going to be delayed. Hooked up with Elias Lsigny—Walt and Roy's dad, you remember—poltergeist in that bar last year? Or was it the year before…anyway, check out our drop box in Portland. Got a possible job. You check it out and see what you think. "
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(no subject)
3/29/12 05:05 am (UTC)I am so all over "We Used to be the Loners" that it's not even funny. It's fascinating and cute and cool and YEA. /curbs enthusiasm
And thank you LJ for being weird and posting my comment before I was done. :|
Anyway, as I was saying:
I loved Angel in the little snippet of "Come the Night" and the "Frequency" thing has me about a thousand and one times a million curious to see even more.
Ooh and the Dean fic, that looks like it, too, is made of shiny cool stuffs.
Damnit. I want to read ALL THE THINGS now. *bounces*
(no subject)
3/29/12 05:17 am (UTC)Oh man, what a relief about the Loners bit--I've been working on it pretty much non-stop and being a bit afraid that it's goofy or boring even though *I* like it...hah! I don't always trust myself.
And thanks for liking Angel, I kind of love that character. I feel so bad about what I plan to do to him. Though I guess it all ends up good, so yay! *beams*
(no subject)
3/29/12 05:54 am (UTC)I loved the Loners bit a lot and just that little bit of Mike and Tommy amused me. Anything with those two hanging out in and Rosie being... well... ROSIE and Tommy being the loveable, beautiful
slow potatogenius he is always makes me smile. What I mean to say is: Omgomgomg I want to read more, so I cannot wait until you're done.I absolutely adore well-done OCs like... there are no words. You give me an OC in any fic that isn't a Mary Sue and I will fangirl the hell out of them because there are so few. But when they're done well then they are awesome and make the world of an AU treatment of a fandom seem even more real. So, yeah, I really like him and... You are planning bad things for him, aren't you? *tuts* :P
(no subject)
3/29/12 11:22 am (UTC)Wheeeeeee!