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& you will whisper jubilate
This meme is about as complex as my thought patterns are prepared to get right now. And it looks like more fun than what I'm meant to be doing, which is writing up my lit review.
Sometimes It's ok to pimp yourself out. Post a list of your top five fic-favorites you've written, regardless of fandom or the reason you love them. This isn't about the BEST things you've written, but what you LOVE most. Then admonish your readership to do the same so you can find new stories to read and pimp!
Our Pataphysical Divigation -- BSG -- Lee/Kara
This is my personal backstory for What Happened When They Were Baby Cadets and it's my very favourite out of all the BSG fics I've ever written, probably because I wrote it as a present for Claira and we have identical taste in PILOTS so it was like writing a present for...myself.
"Don't be absurd." He clenches his teeth. "You're closer, and your vantage point is better. I can't possibly pull it off from this angle."
"Just take the frakking shot, Lee," she snaps at him, and she's so unreasonable and his fingers clench around the controls in fury and all of a sudden some tiny wire in his mind goes white-hot and then shorts out, nothing left coherent but the anger and the perfect clarity of instinct. He pulls back on the throttle and pushes down on the trigger, feels the angle, a fluid certainty that fills him entirely and leaves no room for thought.
Three Cylons are nothing but gas and metal splinters before Kara's Viper shoots out ahead. She's laughing.
Stepping out of the booth this time feels like being punctured with a gentle knife. The room seems smaller, and the lights overly artificial.
Paramagnetic -- Torchwood -- team gen with a hint of Jack/Suzie
This probably qualifies as one of the best things I've written, as well as being one that I'm immensely fond of. I enjoy writing Jack Harkness, I enjoy inventing backstory and extra layers for characters, and I really enjoy using extended science metaphors to discuss death. Because I'm a freak.
Doctor Owen Harper may not like patients but he does like a mystery, which is why he bandages up Tosh's arm and then asks her about the remnants of yellow gunk which were turning a really hideous shade of olive green where they reacted with her blood.
Tosh bites the inside of her cheek and looks to Jack for help and Jack thinks this is all very handy because his last pathologist was atomised by a ball of pink hyperstring, an incident which wasn't nearly as funny as it sounds. Finding someone who lives with their eyes open can be difficult, and Owen's an arse but he's perfect; maybe a little too perfect, maybe a little too sharp, but he has a loose hungry manner that makes Jack fairly sure he could just fuck the man into distraction if he ever started suspecting anything.
So: "It's alien pus," Jack says, watching him closely. "From a real alien. From another planet."
"Jack!" Toshiko snaps.
"Oh," Owen breathes, "well," his fingers twitching with what Jack suspects is the urge to dissect.
No More To Leave It -- SGA -- John/Elizabeth(/Atlantis). sort of.
I wrote this with absolutely no idea what kind of reception it would get, and it was about as popular as a bizarre non-McShep fic in which the ending was interpreted as character death and led to it being tagged as such on fic communities can expect to be in SGA fandom. HOWEVER, I LOVE IT LIKE BURNING. I love the concept, I love the way Atlantis turned out as a character, I loved playing with Elizabeth's motivations, and I love the way it is a multi-person relationship cunningly disguised as extremely weird het.
Light drips in through the blinds and you're cold, cold in the morning air, colder than you remember it ever being, and you wonder if it's deliberate.
You're saying, "What can we do? What can I do?" and John Sheppard's wonderful sarcastic mouth is saying, "All in good time."
And that's about enough to make you angry because that's what you want to do, when you're feeling crushed by helplessness: rage, rage against anything you can. You pull the sheets up around yourself and talk in a low cold voice about your responsibilities, and the fact that time isn't exactly something your people have a lot of right now.
And Atlantis says, "Whose people?"
Says, "They're not just yours any more, Elizabeth; they're mine as well."
daddy's gonna buy you a looking glass -- Ouran High School Host Club -- Kyouya/Tamaki/Haruhi/Hikaru/Kaoru
Speaking of multi-person relationships. I feel weird trying to get people to read this because it really can't make any kind of effective sense unless you know the fandom...and not many people know Ouran...but I find myself rereading this fic very often because it gives me warm fuzzies. Not just self-congratulatory ones (even though I am so proud of it that I want to burst) but also the ones arising from the fact that I lovingly built this fic out of everything I've ever wanted to read in an Ouran post-anime fic, so I can't help but enjoy it. Once again: it's the gift that keeps giving!
"Not this argument again." Tamaki has developed an uncanny knack for keeping track of everyone else's business affairs. "He'll be at it all night."
Haruhi sighs. "And we were almost business-free for the evening, too."
There has always been an element of the spontaneous in Tamaki's movements, no matter how structured and elegant they are, and so it is surprising to no one when a seemingly vague trip across the room takes him within an arm's length of Kyouya's chair, and when he plucks the phone from his best friend's hand without any effort. His face, as he raises it to his own ear, is that of someone discovering a new toy for the first time and finding it wonderful. Kaoru has seen him make that face over chopsticks. Like so many of Tamaki's quirks, it's inexplicable; like the rest of them, of course, it also manages to be endearing.
"Kyouya will not be taking the deal," Tamaki says brightly, "because he cares deeply about the people in the hospital."
A sudden silence; even Haruhi's fingers pause in their swift typing, and Kaoru feels the muscles of Hikaru's neck tense against his own legs. Kyouya pushes his glasses up his nose and does not move. "Tamaki. How many times must I tell you to use my family name when you are undermining me to my board of directors?"
Solfege -- Naruto -- gen with sprinklings of Naruto/Sasuke and Shikamaru/Temari
I wonder if it means something that many of my favourite fics are the ones where I inflict disaster upon the canon universe? The great things about this one are how much scope for creative world-building I allowed myself, and the fact that I got to play around with some POV characters I haven't used much (NEJI <33), and...I don't know, I like creating chaos and then yanking strong emotions out of it and arranging them in an aesthetically pleasing manner.
Temari turns her face upwards to catch even the strongest sun. Temari's hair is a constant fair mess and when she dances from rock to rock, her fan whips a spinning roaring violence out of the air and she is beautiful. She is the sand and she is strange and she is far more trouble than Shikamaru ever expected to find himself sleeping with.
"We'll rest here for a while," she declares, swinging her fan off her back and following it with her bag. "We should reach the bottom of this valley by nightfall."
Shikamaru lets his own bags fall and stretches out on the ground, his hands linked behind his head. She directs. He follows. It's easier that way. In another hour or so he will tell her that they're heading in the wrong direction.
("Why didn't you say something?" she snaps.
He shrugs.)
She calls him names; mostly she calls him Konoha, pronouncing the word as though it's an insult in itself, but behind it he hears the uncertain remnants of her diplomacy. They are the walking representations of their villages, and Shikamaru wonders if the truth is written in his face as clearly as it is in his mind: Konoha gone. Konoha burned.
~
I really do want other people to do this meme! I think it's interesting to see what people like the most out of their own oeuvre.
Our Pataphysical Divigation -- BSG -- Lee/Kara
This is my personal backstory for What Happened When They Were Baby Cadets and it's my very favourite out of all the BSG fics I've ever written, probably because I wrote it as a present for Claira and we have identical taste in PILOTS so it was like writing a present for...myself.
"Don't be absurd." He clenches his teeth. "You're closer, and your vantage point is better. I can't possibly pull it off from this angle."
"Just take the frakking shot, Lee," she snaps at him, and she's so unreasonable and his fingers clench around the controls in fury and all of a sudden some tiny wire in his mind goes white-hot and then shorts out, nothing left coherent but the anger and the perfect clarity of instinct. He pulls back on the throttle and pushes down on the trigger, feels the angle, a fluid certainty that fills him entirely and leaves no room for thought.
Three Cylons are nothing but gas and metal splinters before Kara's Viper shoots out ahead. She's laughing.
Stepping out of the booth this time feels like being punctured with a gentle knife. The room seems smaller, and the lights overly artificial.
Paramagnetic -- Torchwood -- team gen with a hint of Jack/Suzie
This probably qualifies as one of the best things I've written, as well as being one that I'm immensely fond of. I enjoy writing Jack Harkness, I enjoy inventing backstory and extra layers for characters, and I really enjoy using extended science metaphors to discuss death. Because I'm a freak.
Doctor Owen Harper may not like patients but he does like a mystery, which is why he bandages up Tosh's arm and then asks her about the remnants of yellow gunk which were turning a really hideous shade of olive green where they reacted with her blood.
Tosh bites the inside of her cheek and looks to Jack for help and Jack thinks this is all very handy because his last pathologist was atomised by a ball of pink hyperstring, an incident which wasn't nearly as funny as it sounds. Finding someone who lives with their eyes open can be difficult, and Owen's an arse but he's perfect; maybe a little too perfect, maybe a little too sharp, but he has a loose hungry manner that makes Jack fairly sure he could just fuck the man into distraction if he ever started suspecting anything.
So: "It's alien pus," Jack says, watching him closely. "From a real alien. From another planet."
"Jack!" Toshiko snaps.
"Oh," Owen breathes, "well," his fingers twitching with what Jack suspects is the urge to dissect.
No More To Leave It -- SGA -- John/Elizabeth(/Atlantis). sort of.
I wrote this with absolutely no idea what kind of reception it would get, and it was about as popular as a bizarre non-McShep fic in which the ending was interpreted as character death and led to it being tagged as such on fic communities can expect to be in SGA fandom. HOWEVER, I LOVE IT LIKE BURNING. I love the concept, I love the way Atlantis turned out as a character, I loved playing with Elizabeth's motivations, and I love the way it is a multi-person relationship cunningly disguised as extremely weird het.
Light drips in through the blinds and you're cold, cold in the morning air, colder than you remember it ever being, and you wonder if it's deliberate.
You're saying, "What can we do? What can I do?" and John Sheppard's wonderful sarcastic mouth is saying, "All in good time."
And that's about enough to make you angry because that's what you want to do, when you're feeling crushed by helplessness: rage, rage against anything you can. You pull the sheets up around yourself and talk in a low cold voice about your responsibilities, and the fact that time isn't exactly something your people have a lot of right now.
And Atlantis says, "Whose people?"
Says, "They're not just yours any more, Elizabeth; they're mine as well."
daddy's gonna buy you a looking glass -- Ouran High School Host Club -- Kyouya/Tamaki/Haruhi/Hikaru/Kaoru
Speaking of multi-person relationships. I feel weird trying to get people to read this because it really can't make any kind of effective sense unless you know the fandom...and not many people know Ouran...but I find myself rereading this fic very often because it gives me warm fuzzies. Not just self-congratulatory ones (even though I am so proud of it that I want to burst) but also the ones arising from the fact that I lovingly built this fic out of everything I've ever wanted to read in an Ouran post-anime fic, so I can't help but enjoy it. Once again: it's the gift that keeps giving!
"Not this argument again." Tamaki has developed an uncanny knack for keeping track of everyone else's business affairs. "He'll be at it all night."
Haruhi sighs. "And we were almost business-free for the evening, too."
There has always been an element of the spontaneous in Tamaki's movements, no matter how structured and elegant they are, and so it is surprising to no one when a seemingly vague trip across the room takes him within an arm's length of Kyouya's chair, and when he plucks the phone from his best friend's hand without any effort. His face, as he raises it to his own ear, is that of someone discovering a new toy for the first time and finding it wonderful. Kaoru has seen him make that face over chopsticks. Like so many of Tamaki's quirks, it's inexplicable; like the rest of them, of course, it also manages to be endearing.
"Kyouya will not be taking the deal," Tamaki says brightly, "because he cares deeply about the people in the hospital."
A sudden silence; even Haruhi's fingers pause in their swift typing, and Kaoru feels the muscles of Hikaru's neck tense against his own legs. Kyouya pushes his glasses up his nose and does not move. "Tamaki. How many times must I tell you to use my family name when you are undermining me to my board of directors?"
Solfege -- Naruto -- gen with sprinklings of Naruto/Sasuke and Shikamaru/Temari
I wonder if it means something that many of my favourite fics are the ones where I inflict disaster upon the canon universe? The great things about this one are how much scope for creative world-building I allowed myself, and the fact that I got to play around with some POV characters I haven't used much (NEJI <33), and...I don't know, I like creating chaos and then yanking strong emotions out of it and arranging them in an aesthetically pleasing manner.
Temari turns her face upwards to catch even the strongest sun. Temari's hair is a constant fair mess and when she dances from rock to rock, her fan whips a spinning roaring violence out of the air and she is beautiful. She is the sand and she is strange and she is far more trouble than Shikamaru ever expected to find himself sleeping with.
"We'll rest here for a while," she declares, swinging her fan off her back and following it with her bag. "We should reach the bottom of this valley by nightfall."
Shikamaru lets his own bags fall and stretches out on the ground, his hands linked behind his head. She directs. He follows. It's easier that way. In another hour or so he will tell her that they're heading in the wrong direction.
("Why didn't you say something?" she snaps.
He shrugs.)
She calls him names; mostly she calls him Konoha, pronouncing the word as though it's an insult in itself, but behind it he hears the uncertain remnants of her diplomacy. They are the walking representations of their villages, and Shikamaru wonders if the truth is written in his face as clearly as it is in his mind: Konoha gone. Konoha burned.
~
I really do want other people to do this meme! I think it's interesting to see what people like the most out of their own oeuvre.
no subject
I love reading what writers think about their own work, or just the inspiration and thought process behind each piece.
I like creating chaos and then yanking strong emotions out of it and arranging them in an aesthetically pleasing manner. This is why I worship all your work ;3
*flits away*
will probably leave a caplsocky incoherent comment on fic once i've read it :x
no subject
I hope you enjoy the fic!