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unfinished fics
Ow, ow, ow. I knew that eight hours of swing in one day would bit me in the ass (and the ribcage, and the backs of my calves, and various other bodily regions).
RIGHT. I feel like writing but am completely void of inspiration for new ideas, so I need to work on a WIP. What would people like to see me finish/continue?
Essential Psychophysics for the Modern Citrus World - original -
You know you weren’t this crazy when you woke up this morning. But maybe it’s all a matter of perspective. Perspective and brain cells scrambled by the black rubber. Tingling in the fingers of my left hand.
Where the fuck are we, anyway? And something makes me look around wildly, scan the darkness for a street sign.
Bow Street.
I bite my lip so hard my chin shakes, shakes like Hannah’s hands and Hannah’s head, slow minute tremors that gradually amplify as the sober wariness comes back into her face. She doesn’t want to die. Smart kid. But not smart enough, I’m pretty sure, and I bite down hard to stop myself from shouting out and telling her to finish the damn rhyme. There’s only one answer.
Do you want to die? and the barrel is pushed forward, making a dent in the soft pink skin of her forehead.
No. No. Please. No, I don’t want to die.
I close my eyes so I don’t have to see her skin break and the skull shatter into splinters but I hear it all anyway. Bang. And then the muffled spattering fall as the body spreads itself half-folded over the street: nothing graceful in this degradation. The cleaners will pick it up. Scrub away the blood.
Wrong answer, Hannah babe.
I do not know
Says the great bell at Bow
Fucking ironic, really, that indecision can save your life.
Pandora and the Devil - original -
“Wasn’t there some deal with an eagle pecking out your liver? And a rock?” She waved her hand vaguely.
“I’ve got a century off,” Prometheus said, squinting as he turned a tiny golden screwdriver. “Gail is on maternity leave.”
“Gail?”
“The vulture.” He gave a final deft twist and set the box down. “Nice bird, all things considered. We have some decent conversations in between mouthfuls.”
“How charming.” Lucifer beamed at him, still jumping around the room like a boy in a toy shop. “Can I – ?”
“Don’t touch that.” Prometheus didn’t even look at him. "Here, kiddo." Pandora brushed her fingers along the box's lid in a tentative motion, liking the liquid feeling of the metal, and then picked it up. It was warm. "Do try not to open this one," he said. "Or lose it."
Pandora bit back the rude comebacks that sprang to the edge of her tongue, and tucked the box into her jacket pocket.
Our Pataphysical Divigation - BSG -
The first time she hits him his ingrained politeness comes boiling to the surface, fragile bubbles of etiquette atop the sea of anger, and says: you don’t hit ladies.
By the time he’s finished that thought, she’s hit him again
And after that, he has exactly enough time to imagine what his father will say about his getting into a fight on his second day at the Academy before her fist flies out a third time, a blow just as inexpert and fierce as the others. The bubbles burst with hurried precision. He turns his body and lets her knuckles glance off his shoulder, then takes a step closer so that she can’t get enough leverage to recover in time.
She screeches as he kicks her legs out from under her, an almost laughably girlish exclamation that merges fluidly into some of the filthiest language Lee’s heard in…in a very long time. The girl currently flailing inelegantly on the ground in front of him is booted firmly out of the ‘lady’ category, but he can’t quite find another one to put her into. She lifts her head to glare at him and the quick hazel of her eyes freezes all categorisation attempts in their tracks. Her image hovers on the periphery, slipping away from labels, sliding into the gaps.
“Lee Adama,” he says, in the absence of anything more appropriate.
She ignores his outstretched hand and stands up, slowly, rubbing her hip. Her eyes don’t leave his face. He wonders if she’s going to try and hit him again, or just recommence the insults.
However: “Kara Thrace,” she says, eventually, and takes his hand.
Same Old - BSG -
"You’re drunk."
"So're you," Starbuck says, yanking him closer again.
There's a pause and the other noises of the ship, hums and creaks and buzzes, start to leak back into Margaret's hearing through the tense material of the silence between the two Viper pilots.
After a while Starbuck gives a smirk snort sob sigh something and tilts her head to the side. "Well, now that we've determined that we're both highly immoral and taking advantage of each other…"
"No, Kara, seriously." Apollo leans back a fraction so that he can look her in the eye without being on the verge of breathing down her throat. "Are you going to wake up tomorrow and pretend this never happened?"
Starbuck's hand gives a sharp twist and the chain of Apollo's tags suddenly gets a whole lot shorter, looped around her hand, dragging him in with clumsy force. She kisses him and it's every drunk kiss Margaret's ever seen at a party, blindness on a collision course with hunger and maybe even love, magnified by the simple fact that it's Kara Thrace and she never does anything by halves. Apollo stops resisting after the first two seconds, opening his mouth and adjusting to the way she moves, back and forth, her whole body rippling upwards as though to drive their mouths even further together.
When she breaks away, they're still nose to nose. Starbuck's voice is tight. "Are you gonna let me regret it, Lee?"
All My Blindnesses - BSG -
"Do you actually want freedom, or just power?" she snaps.
"Or are they the same thing?"
"Don't give me that abstract bullshit."
"What is my agenda?" Zarek asks. "Money? Money is meaningless, as I am constantly having to remind people. Sex?" She shifts under his gaze not because it is appraising but because it is totally lacking in appraisal; seen it before, his eyes say, and there's nothing but apathy in the urbane way his lips curve around his words. "I don't see anybody offering, Artemis."
"You blew up a building," she says, because it's always in her head when she looks at him and it's the only thing she can say right now.
"You blew up a civilian ship," he says, not missing a beat.
She feels her face go white.
Initial Symptoms - House -
Cameron’s heels click on the floor as she walks in, concern and fatigue tracing her face.
“Are we having a meeting? What –”
“Yes,” House says into his box of noodles. “I’ve lost all of my pens, so we’re going to have to cope without the whiteboard, but the patient presented with high blood pressure, tachycardia, numbness in the left foot and a green nose.”
Cameron frowns. “High blood pressure could be – wait, green?” She stares around the room, frazzled and helpless.
“He’s kidding,” Chase says in a tone of voice that passes for remarkably nice, for Chase. He holds out a paper bag. “Have a prawn cracker.”
Incline - Good Omens -
“Er,” said the angel that wasn’t. “Hi.”
Hastur looked up from his clipboard with a frown. “You’re very late.”
“Um. I got here as quickly as I could,” he lied uncomfortably. “The traffic on the ethereal planes is just hideous at the moment. Rush hour of the millennia, this.”
The newly appointed Dukes looked at each other, but either they didn’t notice the lie or they took it as proof of his newly-found immorality and moved on.
“Excuse us a moment.” Listur steered the other demon to a point a few yards away. Corabael fiddled with his hair and tried to hear what they were saying, but he could only catch a few words.
“…desk jobs snapped up already…”
“…posting up at the…that angel, you know.”
“…nitrous oxide.”
“…just cruel. But then…”
“…job description, now.”
Ligur gave an unpleasant chuckle as they swaggered back over, their faces glowing with the ubiquitious smirk of the bureaucratic superior about to hand the dirty work over to someone who was going to be paid less to do it.
“We think we have just the job for you,” he beamed.
“Do I have to kill anyone?” the new demon asked warily.
“Well.” Ligur looked a bit taken aback. “I mean, that’s probably going to be a bit counterproductive at this point. The War is over. But if you’re really enthusiastic about -”
“It’s a vital position,” Hastur said, kicking his partner in the shins. “Very important."
RIGHT. I feel like writing but am completely void of inspiration for new ideas, so I need to work on a WIP. What would people like to see me finish/continue?
Essential Psychophysics for the Modern Citrus World - original -
You know you weren’t this crazy when you woke up this morning. But maybe it’s all a matter of perspective. Perspective and brain cells scrambled by the black rubber. Tingling in the fingers of my left hand.
Where the fuck are we, anyway? And something makes me look around wildly, scan the darkness for a street sign.
Bow Street.
I bite my lip so hard my chin shakes, shakes like Hannah’s hands and Hannah’s head, slow minute tremors that gradually amplify as the sober wariness comes back into her face. She doesn’t want to die. Smart kid. But not smart enough, I’m pretty sure, and I bite down hard to stop myself from shouting out and telling her to finish the damn rhyme. There’s only one answer.
Do you want to die? and the barrel is pushed forward, making a dent in the soft pink skin of her forehead.
No. No. Please. No, I don’t want to die.
I close my eyes so I don’t have to see her skin break and the skull shatter into splinters but I hear it all anyway. Bang. And then the muffled spattering fall as the body spreads itself half-folded over the street: nothing graceful in this degradation. The cleaners will pick it up. Scrub away the blood.
Wrong answer, Hannah babe.
I do not know
Says the great bell at Bow
Fucking ironic, really, that indecision can save your life.
Pandora and the Devil - original -
“Wasn’t there some deal with an eagle pecking out your liver? And a rock?” She waved her hand vaguely.
“I’ve got a century off,” Prometheus said, squinting as he turned a tiny golden screwdriver. “Gail is on maternity leave.”
“Gail?”
“The vulture.” He gave a final deft twist and set the box down. “Nice bird, all things considered. We have some decent conversations in between mouthfuls.”
“How charming.” Lucifer beamed at him, still jumping around the room like a boy in a toy shop. “Can I – ?”
“Don’t touch that.” Prometheus didn’t even look at him. "Here, kiddo." Pandora brushed her fingers along the box's lid in a tentative motion, liking the liquid feeling of the metal, and then picked it up. It was warm. "Do try not to open this one," he said. "Or lose it."
Pandora bit back the rude comebacks that sprang to the edge of her tongue, and tucked the box into her jacket pocket.
Our Pataphysical Divigation - BSG -
The first time she hits him his ingrained politeness comes boiling to the surface, fragile bubbles of etiquette atop the sea of anger, and says: you don’t hit ladies.
By the time he’s finished that thought, she’s hit him again
And after that, he has exactly enough time to imagine what his father will say about his getting into a fight on his second day at the Academy before her fist flies out a third time, a blow just as inexpert and fierce as the others. The bubbles burst with hurried precision. He turns his body and lets her knuckles glance off his shoulder, then takes a step closer so that she can’t get enough leverage to recover in time.
She screeches as he kicks her legs out from under her, an almost laughably girlish exclamation that merges fluidly into some of the filthiest language Lee’s heard in…in a very long time. The girl currently flailing inelegantly on the ground in front of him is booted firmly out of the ‘lady’ category, but he can’t quite find another one to put her into. She lifts her head to glare at him and the quick hazel of her eyes freezes all categorisation attempts in their tracks. Her image hovers on the periphery, slipping away from labels, sliding into the gaps.
“Lee Adama,” he says, in the absence of anything more appropriate.
She ignores his outstretched hand and stands up, slowly, rubbing her hip. Her eyes don’t leave his face. He wonders if she’s going to try and hit him again, or just recommence the insults.
However: “Kara Thrace,” she says, eventually, and takes his hand.
Same Old - BSG -
"You’re drunk."
"So're you," Starbuck says, yanking him closer again.
There's a pause and the other noises of the ship, hums and creaks and buzzes, start to leak back into Margaret's hearing through the tense material of the silence between the two Viper pilots.
After a while Starbuck gives a smirk snort sob sigh something and tilts her head to the side. "Well, now that we've determined that we're both highly immoral and taking advantage of each other…"
"No, Kara, seriously." Apollo leans back a fraction so that he can look her in the eye without being on the verge of breathing down her throat. "Are you going to wake up tomorrow and pretend this never happened?"
Starbuck's hand gives a sharp twist and the chain of Apollo's tags suddenly gets a whole lot shorter, looped around her hand, dragging him in with clumsy force. She kisses him and it's every drunk kiss Margaret's ever seen at a party, blindness on a collision course with hunger and maybe even love, magnified by the simple fact that it's Kara Thrace and she never does anything by halves. Apollo stops resisting after the first two seconds, opening his mouth and adjusting to the way she moves, back and forth, her whole body rippling upwards as though to drive their mouths even further together.
When she breaks away, they're still nose to nose. Starbuck's voice is tight. "Are you gonna let me regret it, Lee?"
All My Blindnesses - BSG -
"Do you actually want freedom, or just power?" she snaps.
"Or are they the same thing?"
"Don't give me that abstract bullshit."
"What is my agenda?" Zarek asks. "Money? Money is meaningless, as I am constantly having to remind people. Sex?" She shifts under his gaze not because it is appraising but because it is totally lacking in appraisal; seen it before, his eyes say, and there's nothing but apathy in the urbane way his lips curve around his words. "I don't see anybody offering, Artemis."
"You blew up a building," she says, because it's always in her head when she looks at him and it's the only thing she can say right now.
"You blew up a civilian ship," he says, not missing a beat.
She feels her face go white.
Initial Symptoms - House -
Cameron’s heels click on the floor as she walks in, concern and fatigue tracing her face.
“Are we having a meeting? What –”
“Yes,” House says into his box of noodles. “I’ve lost all of my pens, so we’re going to have to cope without the whiteboard, but the patient presented with high blood pressure, tachycardia, numbness in the left foot and a green nose.”
Cameron frowns. “High blood pressure could be – wait, green?” She stares around the room, frazzled and helpless.
“He’s kidding,” Chase says in a tone of voice that passes for remarkably nice, for Chase. He holds out a paper bag. “Have a prawn cracker.”
Incline - Good Omens -
“Er,” said the angel that wasn’t. “Hi.”
Hastur looked up from his clipboard with a frown. “You’re very late.”
“Um. I got here as quickly as I could,” he lied uncomfortably. “The traffic on the ethereal planes is just hideous at the moment. Rush hour of the millennia, this.”
The newly appointed Dukes looked at each other, but either they didn’t notice the lie or they took it as proof of his newly-found immorality and moved on.
“Excuse us a moment.” Listur steered the other demon to a point a few yards away. Corabael fiddled with his hair and tried to hear what they were saying, but he could only catch a few words.
“…desk jobs snapped up already…”
“…posting up at the…that angel, you know.”
“…nitrous oxide.”
“…just cruel. But then…”
“…job description, now.”
Ligur gave an unpleasant chuckle as they swaggered back over, their faces glowing with the ubiquitious smirk of the bureaucratic superior about to hand the dirty work over to someone who was going to be paid less to do it.
“We think we have just the job for you,” he beamed.
“Do I have to kill anyone?” the new demon asked warily.
“Well.” Ligur looked a bit taken aback. “I mean, that’s probably going to be a bit counterproductive at this point. The War is over. But if you’re really enthusiastic about -”
“It’s a vital position,” Hastur said, kicking his partner in the shins. “Very important."
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Or House. But mostly GOOD OMENS!
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All of these read intriguingly!
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"You blew up a civilian ship," he says, not missing a beat.
She feels her face go white.
Oh, CRAZYSHIP, how I love you! <3333333
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...do you want to explain the px conversation that led to that icon?
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It is very uncomplicated! Ash literally and really and truly typoed >4 when she was trying to type <3.
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