A look into my head...
Jul. 7th, 2010 10:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tarotgalFirst lines of the last few things I've worked on and haven't finished, for your entertainment/enjoyment/amusement:
From a Harry Potter fic based on Tonks & the Auror's song "Charlie Weasley":
Neville wasn’t sure how to describe the place he had ended up. Much like Hogwarts, the Romanian Dragon Reserve was both living space and work space in one. And, like Hogwarts, the place held hundreds of people and creatures. But that was, at first glance, where the similarities seemed to end. The grounds of the Dragon Reserve were immense, a hundred times larger than Hogwarts, with a whole variety of plants Neville had only dreamed of working with. And here he had a set job, something he loved and knew he could handle. More importantly, it would be a fresh start. No one knew him, which meant no one looked at him and saw the useless little boy he had once been. However, he hadn’t been there a minute before he realized that his one and only instant in—Charlie Weasley—would be of no use whatsoever.
From a Torchwood giftfic for Lady K:
Unless Jack was quite mistaken—and on matters such as this Captain Jack Harkness was rarely wrong—Ianto Jones was angry with him. “The soup station part of the buffet is over—”
“I see it,” Ianto interrupted, sparse with his words. He turned his back on Jack and moved in a straight line toward the hot soup.
Jack stood and watched a moment then closed his eyes. Ianto was certainly angry. Though, honestly, he could not figure out what he had done to annoy Ianto so much. The only possibility was that it was this damn cold of Ianto’s.
From my NaNoWriMo '09 novel:
I think it all started with a simple, seemingly harmless “Carol, would you pass me the pork?”If you asked my mom, it started long before that question. Maybe it was eight months before when I decided to become a vegetarian. Or maybe it was a year before when I cut my hair short-ish and died it purple. Or maybe it was fifteen months before when I got the still-controversial eyebrow piercing. Or maybe itwas three years before when I came out to my immediate family and friends and anyone else who cared to know a thing about me.
From the Body Image prompt for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hc_bingo:
For most of his life, Remus John Lupin had perfected the skill of avoidance.
Remus avoided people. It was hard for him to make friends, because if people got too close, they would figure out what he was. He couldn’t figure out why anyone would want to get close to him anyway. He was thoroughly boring, preferring books to conversation, and… well, there was his face.
From a sci-fi story about a coyote that is exactly 3 paragraphs long before I lost the urge to write it:
Bruxton rocked his glass from side to side, watching the liquid inside turn from a mint green toteal and back again. It had taken him more than eight months to get used to drinking shots of gyian grass, and while they occasionally still turned his stomach, the attempt was well worth it. No smuggler was taken seriously without it, though that didn’t mean he had to like the taste. And that’s why he nursed the shot of it now, not drinking it down right away so he could let the glassin his hand complete his look rather than ask for a refill.
From a Strokes story about Julia that I'm having second thoughts about:
There were seconds—and even full minutes—of the day when Julia thought there must be something more to life than what she had. This occurred to her as she was stopped at a red light, watching the windshield wipers go swoop-swoop swoop-swoop and casting away the raindrops. The thought popped into her mind after she successfully talked the fiftieth gay club boy of the night out of her limo, leaving her alone in the large vehicle. And the thought struck inher as she stood in the silence of the staff room at Strokes.
From a Strokes story about Sin called "Tryouts":
“Hey, Coach?” Sin called loudly down the hallway. Sweetie came to attention at the sound, sitting upright. But Jamie, as though he had not heard, continued what he was doing, which was fondling Sweetie.
“Jamie!” Sweetie hissed, trying to wriggle away and push Jamie’s hands out from under his polo shirt. “Quit it!”
Jamie pouted as Sweetie dismounted, leaving Jamie lying on his back on the sofa without the lovely, heavy weight around his midsection he’d had a few moments before. “We can cuddle while he talks,” Jamie insisted. “I’ll just do things to you that don’t require my ears or tongue.” But he knew his sort of reason was futile here. For all intents and purposes, Sin was like his son. And even though Sin knew perfectly well what Jamie and Sweetie did together, Sweetie didn’t want the kid to have visuals to match the ideas. Jamie sighed and called out, “In here, Sin!”
From a Doctor Who story I started based on a prompt from the Makebelieve list about the Doctor getting sick and being a bad patient:
“Cupcake?”
Donna rolled her eyes. “Oh don’t you start with the nicknames now. We might have escaped Pompeii and that giant bee alien but I absolutely draw the line at…” She turned to the Doctor, seeing him pointing at the cupcake vendor. “Oh. Right. Absolutely.”
It was another hour before they headed back to the TARDIS. As she closed the door behind them, Donna polished off a straight-from-the-oven warm cookie. “It might go straight to my thighs but I don’t care.” She licked her fingers. “I don’t understand how we could end up on this Planet of Baked Goods and you didn’t eat a thing.”
“Wasn’t hungry.” He shrugged innocently.
From a sequel to Oliver Wood and the Puddlemere United On Tour
There were still two days left in the east coast Harry Potter and the Cauldron of Love Convention. Two days and three nights, to be exact. Dark and overpoweringly loud, the ballroom in the hotel had not only been transformed but also transported that night. They were going on their seventh straight hour of Wizard Rock and the convention-goers had only become more excited at each act.
John Kassemi swallowed and shooting pains filled his throat and the roof of his mouth. Even though he’d woken up with a sore throat that morning, it hadn’t been so bad earlier. But then he’d performed and given it his all. The singing had no doubt strained his voice, not to mention exhausted him. He felt so tired he could easily have gone up to his hotel room and crashed until morning… or even the afternoon.
But it was only a little after 9 and there were still three bands scheduled to go on tonight. Tonight’s was an amazing billing; he couldn’t possibly miss these guys. What did he need sleep for, anyway? It was for weaklings and people who didn’t like to yawn.
From a Torchwood giftfic for iff:
Ianto stacked the cups on the tray as softly as possible, remembering the last time when Owen pulled a gun on him for making too much noise. Even though he had managed to store away what he thought were all the weapons since then, Ianto wasn’t going to take any changes. Onto the tray he piled the cups followed by saucers,spoons, teapot, sugar, honey, cream, juice pitcher, water pitcher, sandwich squares, fruit slices, and medicine. They were running low on all of the above,but the medicine was in especially short supply. Ianto was tempted to let them skip their doses once or twice to make it last longer, but the bug they’d come down with had just about run its course anyway. With luck this might be their last dosage. The hub wasn’t exactly equipped to accommodate long-term guests,but the four had managed suitable arrangements.
From a Star Wars fic called "Choices":
Eight sneezes in the span of half an hour were enough to make Obi-Wan drag himself away from the desk and his work. He headed to the ‘fresher for tissues, and returned with not just one, but the whole box. The following minutes were spent not picking up where he’d left off in his assignments, but going through tissue after tissue with strong blows.
He finally sighed and returned to his work but it wasn’t long before he needed to sneeze again. As it came upon him quickly, he lifted his arm and buried his nose in the crook. “hut-chihhh!” He sniffed hard. “Master?” he called over, his words muffled by his sleeve.
Qui-Gon, who had been lounging on the couch, reading, sat up and looked back at him. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for more.
Obi-Wan sniffed hard again, then went for a tissue. He rubbed at his nose as he asked, “Do you have a minute? I need some advice.”
From a Harry Potter fic based on Tonks & the Auror's song "Charlie Weasley":
Neville wasn’t sure how to describe the place he had ended up. Much like Hogwarts, the Romanian Dragon Reserve was both living space and work space in one. And, like Hogwarts, the place held hundreds of people and creatures. But that was, at first glance, where the similarities seemed to end. The grounds of the Dragon Reserve were immense, a hundred times larger than Hogwarts, with a whole variety of plants Neville had only dreamed of working with. And here he had a set job, something he loved and knew he could handle. More importantly, it would be a fresh start. No one knew him, which meant no one looked at him and saw the useless little boy he had once been. However, he hadn’t been there a minute before he realized that his one and only instant in—Charlie Weasley—would be of no use whatsoever.
From a Torchwood giftfic for Lady K:
Unless Jack was quite mistaken—and on matters such as this Captain Jack Harkness was rarely wrong—Ianto Jones was angry with him. “The soup station part of the buffet is over—”
“I see it,” Ianto interrupted, sparse with his words. He turned his back on Jack and moved in a straight line toward the hot soup.
Jack stood and watched a moment then closed his eyes. Ianto was certainly angry. Though, honestly, he could not figure out what he had done to annoy Ianto so much. The only possibility was that it was this damn cold of Ianto’s.
From my NaNoWriMo '09 novel:
I think it all started with a simple, seemingly harmless “Carol, would you pass me the pork?”If you asked my mom, it started long before that question. Maybe it was eight months before when I decided to become a vegetarian. Or maybe it was a year before when I cut my hair short-ish and died it purple. Or maybe it was fifteen months before when I got the still-controversial eyebrow piercing. Or maybe itwas three years before when I came out to my immediate family and friends and anyone else who cared to know a thing about me.
From the Body Image prompt for
hc_bingo:For most of his life, Remus John Lupin had perfected the skill of avoidance.
Remus avoided people. It was hard for him to make friends, because if people got too close, they would figure out what he was. He couldn’t figure out why anyone would want to get close to him anyway. He was thoroughly boring, preferring books to conversation, and… well, there was his face.
From a sci-fi story about a coyote that is exactly 3 paragraphs long before I lost the urge to write it:
Bruxton rocked his glass from side to side, watching the liquid inside turn from a mint green toteal and back again. It had taken him more than eight months to get used to drinking shots of gyian grass, and while they occasionally still turned his stomach, the attempt was well worth it. No smuggler was taken seriously without it, though that didn’t mean he had to like the taste. And that’s why he nursed the shot of it now, not drinking it down right away so he could let the glassin his hand complete his look rather than ask for a refill.
From a Strokes story about Julia that I'm having second thoughts about:
There were seconds—and even full minutes—of the day when Julia thought there must be something more to life than what she had. This occurred to her as she was stopped at a red light, watching the windshield wipers go swoop-swoop swoop-swoop and casting away the raindrops. The thought popped into her mind after she successfully talked the fiftieth gay club boy of the night out of her limo, leaving her alone in the large vehicle. And the thought struck inher as she stood in the silence of the staff room at Strokes.
From a Strokes story about Sin called "Tryouts":
“Hey, Coach?” Sin called loudly down the hallway. Sweetie came to attention at the sound, sitting upright. But Jamie, as though he had not heard, continued what he was doing, which was fondling Sweetie.
“Jamie!” Sweetie hissed, trying to wriggle away and push Jamie’s hands out from under his polo shirt. “Quit it!”
Jamie pouted as Sweetie dismounted, leaving Jamie lying on his back on the sofa without the lovely, heavy weight around his midsection he’d had a few moments before. “We can cuddle while he talks,” Jamie insisted. “I’ll just do things to you that don’t require my ears or tongue.” But he knew his sort of reason was futile here. For all intents and purposes, Sin was like his son. And even though Sin knew perfectly well what Jamie and Sweetie did together, Sweetie didn’t want the kid to have visuals to match the ideas. Jamie sighed and called out, “In here, Sin!”
From a Doctor Who story I started based on a prompt from the Makebelieve list about the Doctor getting sick and being a bad patient:
“Cupcake?”
Donna rolled her eyes. “Oh don’t you start with the nicknames now. We might have escaped Pompeii and that giant bee alien but I absolutely draw the line at…” She turned to the Doctor, seeing him pointing at the cupcake vendor. “Oh. Right. Absolutely.”
It was another hour before they headed back to the TARDIS. As she closed the door behind them, Donna polished off a straight-from-the-oven warm cookie. “It might go straight to my thighs but I don’t care.” She licked her fingers. “I don’t understand how we could end up on this Planet of Baked Goods and you didn’t eat a thing.”
“Wasn’t hungry.” He shrugged innocently.
From a sequel to Oliver Wood and the Puddlemere United On Tour
There were still two days left in the east coast Harry Potter and the Cauldron of Love Convention. Two days and three nights, to be exact. Dark and overpoweringly loud, the ballroom in the hotel had not only been transformed but also transported that night. They were going on their seventh straight hour of Wizard Rock and the convention-goers had only become more excited at each act.
John Kassemi swallowed and shooting pains filled his throat and the roof of his mouth. Even though he’d woken up with a sore throat that morning, it hadn’t been so bad earlier. But then he’d performed and given it his all. The singing had no doubt strained his voice, not to mention exhausted him. He felt so tired he could easily have gone up to his hotel room and crashed until morning… or even the afternoon.
But it was only a little after 9 and there were still three bands scheduled to go on tonight. Tonight’s was an amazing billing; he couldn’t possibly miss these guys. What did he need sleep for, anyway? It was for weaklings and people who didn’t like to yawn.
From a Torchwood giftfic for iff:
Ianto stacked the cups on the tray as softly as possible, remembering the last time when Owen pulled a gun on him for making too much noise. Even though he had managed to store away what he thought were all the weapons since then, Ianto wasn’t going to take any changes. Onto the tray he piled the cups followed by saucers,spoons, teapot, sugar, honey, cream, juice pitcher, water pitcher, sandwich squares, fruit slices, and medicine. They were running low on all of the above,but the medicine was in especially short supply. Ianto was tempted to let them skip their doses once or twice to make it last longer, but the bug they’d come down with had just about run its course anyway. With luck this might be their last dosage. The hub wasn’t exactly equipped to accommodate long-term guests,but the four had managed suitable arrangements.
From a Star Wars fic called "Choices":
Eight sneezes in the span of half an hour were enough to make Obi-Wan drag himself away from the desk and his work. He headed to the ‘fresher for tissues, and returned with not just one, but the whole box. The following minutes were spent not picking up where he’d left off in his assignments, but going through tissue after tissue with strong blows.
He finally sighed and returned to his work but it wasn’t long before he needed to sneeze again. As it came upon him quickly, he lifted his arm and buried his nose in the crook. “hut-chihhh!” He sniffed hard. “Master?” he called over, his words muffled by his sleeve.
Qui-Gon, who had been lounging on the couch, reading, sat up and looked back at him. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for more.
Obi-Wan sniffed hard again, then went for a tissue. He rubbed at his nose as he asked, “Do you have a minute? I need some advice.”
